When The Sun Sleeps
by clay12345
Summary: Jane does something that Maura may never be able to forgive or forget. What will it take for Jane took make amends? How far must they go? Rizzoli/Isles. Rated for language and mild violence.
1. Love Ain't For Keeping

**I don't own a thing.**

**Love Ain't For Keeping - The Who**

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><p><strong><em>"I made a wrong mistake"<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

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><p>Jane Rizzoli watched as the large mesh gates opened up in front of her, a loud rattling echoing through the yard. The sun ate away at her unprepared eyes and beat down against her skin. She knew that, all for the chain gates, everything was silent, but she could still hear the sound of children crying out for the mothers in that waiting room. Of husbands whispering to their wives. Of old friends reassuring the nervous women in front of them. And those mothers, wives, and women… They were the lucky ones.<p>

Jane didn't look back.

Three years had been long enough.

She chuckled to herself when she saw Frost waiting on the hood of his black Ford, a six pack of beer beside him, the condensation dripping down the car's grill.

"Hey partner," he said.

"I'm still your partner? I thought you got assigned a new one."

"Eh. Just a small technicality. You're still my partner. I don't think Frankie'll mind if I call you that anyway."

"_He_'s your partner now?"

"You didn't know?"

"I knew he got tapped for detective last month. Didn't know he got homicide. Or you. Said something about wanting the details to be a surprise."

"Cavanaugh insisted we have another Rizzoli on the team. That was his excuse."

"Sounds like a good one to me."

"How have you been?"

Jane snatched a glance back at the mesh gates that had now closed behind her. She sized it up.

"How do you think? It's damn peachy in there."

"Glad you enjoyed your stay, then." Frost handed Jane a beer and hopped off the hood. He went over the driver's side and motioned Jane to take shotgun. "C'mon. Let's get back to the city."

They were silent as the two stepped into the car. It had been a long time. Too long. And the events that had led to this… It had been too much. Too hectic. Too much to really understand or comprehend or every really truly process. For everyone. For Frost, for Korsak, for Frankie… For Maura. Jane let her mind slip to the medical examiner, letting a small smile touch her face.

"How has Maura been?"

"Maura?"

"Yeah. How has she been?"

"She hasn't gone to visit you?"

"No. I don't blame her either. Not after what I did."

The two were silent again, contemplating just what Jane had done. Neither let themselves delve in to much into the details. They only grazed over the basics. The details were too much to handle. For now.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Jane. You did what you had to do."

"Right, okay. I should still be in there, you know. The small things don't matter. I did it. I should be locked away."

"Thought you didn't like it in there."

"Doesn't matter if I liked it or not. That's not the point of the system. Now stop deflecting and answer my question. How has she been?"

"Fine," sighed Frost. "I think. She acts like she's fine. Talks like she's fine. Walks like she's fine…"

"But that's what worries you."

"She acts like she's okay too much. Too often. All the time. And it's too much. I can tell."

"Of course, you can."

"I think she still doesn't understand."

"She probably hates me."

Jane Rizzoli thought about the day, in the courtroom. She hadn't brought herself to look at Maura, or to speak to her. And the pit in her stomach had only grown and grown and grown. Steadily.

_There were spectators. Other detectives. Family. People were just genuinely interested and were court hopping. Jane didn't look forward to the cameras and microphones that would await her outside of the courtroom. She didn't look forward to having it all in her face. She didn't look forward to the fanfare. She hated it._

"_Defendant, rise," said the judge, looking down from his podium._

_Jane complied_

"_How does the defendant plead?"_

_Jane thought about all the times she had testified before this very judge, as a police officer. A detective. And here she was now. In front of the other desk. The defendant. The handcuffs scraping against her wrists._

"_Guilty, your honor," she stated. She didn't waver. Her voice left her strong. "First degree murder."_

_The judge raised her eyebrows. He knew the Jane Rizzoli. Most in the criminal justice world did. This was Detective Jane Rizzoli. The cop who had shot herself in order to stop her one time colleague. The hero. Boston's hero. He had been surprised enough when he had heard the news, and even more surprised when he had heard that Detective Jane Rizzoli would be in _his _courtroom. This, though, didn't surprise him. It had Rizzoli written all over it._

"_You," he said, staring at the attorney beside Jane. "I think you should advise your client."_

"_I tried, your honor! She wouldn't listen. She was adamant. She wants this."_

"_Son of a… right." The judge turned to Jane. "And you! You don't get to decide what you're charged with. But you do know that even with a guilty plea, going away for first degree murder is life without parole?"_

"_I know that, your honor."_

"_Hell. Fine. You may want to go away for life, detective. But that's not your decision."_

_The judge motioned for the prosecutors to proceed._

"_Your honor, the count is voluntary manslaughter. We're suggesting three years."_

"_Ten," said Jane._

_The prosecutor looked at her partner, and then at the judge, clearly unsure as to what to do. This had never happened before. The defendant had _never _bargained for a higher charge. The judge rolled his eyes. This was a first. History. They should write about it in textbooks. They should teach it in law school._

"_You aren't discussing that in here. Not my job. That's for you lawyers to decide." He slammed his hammer down onto the bed on his desk. He motioned his hands forward. "Court is adjourned. Go along now, my little ones. Settle."_

"She didn't say anything about me, did she?" asked Jane.

"She tries not to. Hell, we don't even mention your name whenever she walks into the damn bullpen. She gets this sad look on her face and everything gets real awkward. It's awkward. I don't do awkward."

Jane's heart clenched as she imagined Maura's face. She had done that. She had caused that. She leaned her head against the window of Frost's car. And again, the two were silent, the car filled only with the sound of tires against highway asphalt.

"You know," Frost said, speaking up. "Cavanaugh's talking to the chief of police about getting you your badge back."

"That's a load of bullshit. I don't deserve it."

Frost furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled over the side of the road and brought the car to a sudden halt.

"What the hell, Frost?" sputtered Jane.

"Stop it. All of it. No one blames you, Jane. The judge tried to talk you out of it… The DA tried to talk you out of it… They gave you three years as a concession to _you_. They wanted to give you two years. Hell, maybe even a year and a half. With a chance to get out on parole! The _warden _tried to get you out after _a year_. You didn't do anything wrong, Jane. You know that."

"None of that changes a damn thing, Frost. I killed someone."

"I killed someone too, Rizzoli. A lot of us have. Someone pointed a gun at me and I shot back. You weren't like this when you got Bobby."

"That was different."

"No it wasn't. You can say that it was, but it wasn't. You want my opinion? You want the opinion of the whole department? Well, you have it."

"It isn't Maura's opinion."

"You don't know what Maura thinks about this. No one does. So stop pretending like you do. Have you ever thought that maybe she's _thankful_? That maybe the only reason she's mad at you was that you were determined to keep yourself locked away? Remember how devastated she was after you were shot and the two of you didn't talk for a month? Well now it's been three years. And _you _wanted to make it _your whole damn life_."

Jane's voice was slow; she had been taken aback by Frost's outburst. "I… I have an idea. About how she feels. Remember Tommy O'Rourke?"

"Sure I do. Can't forget."

"Well I was gonna call Doyle. Tell him we knew the killer…"

"…So that _he _could send a message."

"I told her, too. Told her I just wanted to keep her safe. That I would do it in a heartbeat. It's just a phone call. You… You should've seen her face when I said that. She just… looked at me."

"Did you call?"

"No. After seeing that look, I couldn't."

"But this time was different. Even you're saying it. You believe it deep down, you just don't want to admit it to the world."

"Shut up, Frost. You know it. I know it. I don't deserve her. Hell, I never deserved her. Not her friendship. Not anything. And I sure as hell don't deserve it now."

"Just don't understand why you're trying to punish yourself so hard. I'm telling you… You did nothing wrong. Chief said you'll probably get it back. Your badge. Maybe do a little stint with the academy first. Work hours back on the beat for a little bit and then go back working homicide."

"Frost…"

"And you're going to take the badge back. We need you back in homicide, Jane. You were the best. And we need you. You think the city's better off without your badge? Hell, no. You took an oath, Rizzoli. Now follow up on it."

"I already broke the oath."

"_No, you didn't_." Frost brought the car back onto the road. "Now let's go home. Your mother's got a whole damn party planned for you.

"Jesus. I should've known. She's got a banner, doesn't she?"

"Yup."

"And special little plates."

"Yup."

"And matching cups."

"Yup."

"Damn it."

"You should be glad," Frost added quickly, "that your brother has been staying at your place. He hasn't let your mother touch a thing."

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><p>Maura Isles didn't know how to receive the information that Jane would be coming home. She knew it would happen. And she knew when it would happen. There was no way the prison would keep Jane for longer than her allotted three years. But it caught her by surprise anyway.<p>

Angela had called her and told her of the news.

"She's coming home, honey. We're throwing a party at that bar you all go to all the time. You're coming, right?"

Maura found herself unable to refuse Angela's pleading voice. Much like how she found herself so often unable to refuse Jane's pleads, as much as she had tried to resist. She sensed – no, she was sure – that Jane felt that same way about her. It oftentimes led to quite the debacle, when the two of them were constantly giving in to each other.

So, she had said yes. To the welcome home party. It surprised her and didn't surprise her at the same time, that she felt apprehension simmering beneath her skin.

She had missed Jane.

She had missed going over to the detective's apartment, sometimes inadvertently spending the night.

She had missed the detective coming over to her apartment, teasing her for keeping a 'turtle' in the place.

She had missed correcting Jane: no, it's a tortoise.

This surprised her, though she realized that this, above all the things that had recently surprised her, should be the one thing that shouldn't have surprised her. A feeling began to bubble up in her stomach. Guilt. She recognized it as guilt.

She wondered what would have happened if she had decided to take Detective Frost's place, to pick Jane up when she left the prison. She wondered what would have happened if she had chosen to visit Jane at least once throughout the long three year period.

She wondered what would have happened if the whole thing never occurred. If Jane never did what she did. No, if the thing that _caused_ Jane to do what she did never happened in the first. She wondered where she and the other detective would be.

"_Doc?" It was Korsak's voice on the other end of the phone line. Fear began to take over Maura's mind. Korsak's voice was serious… Never a good sign. Was Jane…? Did something happen…? To her? "You're gonna hear some shit, doc. No, you're gonna hear a lot of shit. Thought it'd be better if you heard it from me first. Before it all hits the fan."_

"_What happened? Is Jane okay?"_

"_Jane's fine," he said. And Maura breathed a brief sigh of relief. Jane was okay. She wasn't hurt. "Sort of."_

"_What do you mean sort of? Has she been shot again? What happened? What's going on?"_

"_Doc, Jane's okay. Physically."_

"_You're going to have to be clearer, detective. What's going on?"_

"_Doc… Maura… Jane… She killed someone. She killed Sam Byrne, Maura. They're taking her downtown right now. For booking."_

"_What?"_

"_You heard me, doc. They're taking you off the case. Because… well, you know. But Jane… She cares about you, you hear? She's got your back. Always. Don't forget that, understand me? She isn't doing too good right now. But… Anyway. I thought it'd be better if you heard the whole damn spiel from me. Instead of IA or the goddamn media. Shit, they'll be all over this one."_

"_I… I…" sputtered Maura. _

_She sputtered out a couple more syllables before shutting her mouth. She couldn't find the words. She was in disbelief. Jane had killed. Her Jane had killed. It didn't matter that it was Sam Byrne who was the one dead after all this. No, it did matter. Of course, it mattered._

_But they were booking Jane. Arresting her._

_So she wasn't at gunpoint. She wasn't on duty._

_So why?_

Maura repeated herself, asking the empty air around her.

"Why?" she asked. "Why, Jane?"

Confused, she desperately hoped that in that moment, something, someone, _anything_, would answer her question. She didn't care that it was the most irrational thought she could think.

But she needed her answers.

And with all her heart, Maura Isles missed Jane Rizzoli.


	2. Four Sticks

**I don't own anything.**

**Four Sticks - Led Zeppelin**

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><p><strong><em>"You've got to be very careful if you don't know where you're going, because you might not get there."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

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><p>"This is a <em>good <em>thing, Jane," sputtered Korsak, holding one of the cups that Angela had spent so long trying to pick out. "Orange wasn't your color. Didn't look all that good on you."

"Right. Thanks. You sound like my mother, Korsak."

"Hey! I'm not old enough to be your mother."

"You wanna tell me what's going on with my badge? No one tells me a word until I walk outta that damn joint and Frost lets it slip."

"Your _badge_! Right. Well I talked up Cavanaugh. Not that he needed talking up about getting _you _your badge back. He talked to the chief… talked to the governor… Hell, you did a lot for this city, Rizzoli. They got no problem giving you your job back. Course you gotta do a few psych evals. And maybe work the streets as an auxiliary. You know. No gun 'till you prove yourself again."

"I'm not saying that I want it back, Korsak."

"Well why wouldn't you? They're damn thankful for what you've done for 'em as a cop. Hell, they're damn thankful for what you've done from inside that prison there. You know how many people we've gotten because of the info you managed to get us?"

"Well what about all those cases that had to go under review again. Because I got sent in."

"They all ended up fine, Jane. Lawyers couldn't rack up enough evidence to spring their clients free. What're you being so angry for, Rizzoli? You just got out! Your mother's throwing you a party. A damn good one at that."

"Yeah, there's the problem. My Ma's throwing me a damn party."

"Don't be such a spoilsport."

Jane rolled her eyes as Korsak went to grab another piece of cake Angela had baked. She sat, twirling the bottle of beer on the table, running a finger down the Dead Guy label.

"Thought you liked Sam Adams."

"Things change, little brother."

"Sure do. You know, Tommy's been out, too."

"Did he get a party, too?"

"After he ditched the last time? I wanna say no. But he did."

"Some family we're turning out to be. Went from having two cops in the family to two ex-cons."

"What you did and what he did are different, sis."

"Why do people keep saying that? That what I did was okay? You're right. What Tommy did was different. He just has a couple DUI's on his record. He never killed nobody."

"It's _different_, Janie, because what he did was selfish. He didn't kill anybody, but he could've. Wouldn't have had any good reason to either."

Jane leaned in angrily; "You listen to me, little brother. I don't care what you think about me. There is _never _a good reason to kill anybody. Never."

"I'm sorry. You're right. That was a stupid thing to say. There isn't ever a good reason. But sometimes you gotta do it, right?"

Jane was silent, unsure of what to say.

"Let me ask you this, Janie. If everything went down the same way it did, would you have done it over again?"

"Frankie…"

"How is this different from Marino? They both killed people. And Marino wasn't going to kill you right there. You were his ticket out. You still shot him."

Jane was silent again.

"They say you could've gotten out of this with no jail time, if you had wanted to."

"The DA tried to let me off with an involuntary manslaughter."

"Jesus, Janie. You're telling people this now?"

"If I had said anything _earlier_," Jane growled, "people would've been trying to spring me after a day."

"Shit. Right. Well, we can stop talking about this. I get it. You don't gotta say anything, but I get what you did."

"How's Frost treating you?"

Jane immediately grabbed at the chance to change the subject.

"Good. Crowe's getting on my back, though."

"Well you're the rookie. Comes with the territory. You should've seen him on Frost when he first came in. I mean, the poor guy was throwing up at every crime scene."

"He still does that, you know?"

"You kidding? Really?"

"Well he doesn't throw up. But he gags. Now he just holds it down."

"Frost… Korsak getting on your back too?"

"Not as much. Keeps calling me the replacement Rizzoli though. Don't know how I feel about that."

"Eh. You can't fill my shoes. Ever."

"Awesome. Thanks, sis."

"Any day." Jane filled her mouth with the Dead Guy brew. "Besides. It's not like I'm coming to take your place any time soon."

"Nah. Don't say that. Everyone wants you back. Even Crowe."

"I know they do."

"Then what's holding you back? And don't give me that bullshit you've been giving everyone else about not deserving. I know that's what you _want _to think, and I know that's what you want _everybody else _to think you think, but it's not really what you think. You want back in. So what's holding you back?" Frankie stood up and knocked away a balloon that was hitting his face. "You don't have to answer that question for me. But, uh, I'm gonna go try out one of those Dead Guy's. Better be good."

Jane sighed and leaned her forehead against her palm. She groaned when she heard somebody else into the seat that Frankie had just occupied, and she proceeded to drop her head down to the booth table.

"Are you kidding me, Frost? Are you all, like, taking turns with me or something?"

"Just checking up on you. One at a time."

"Heard you still have a weak stomach there."

"Hey! This baby hasn't thrown up once for two years."

Jane shook her head and let another gulp of beer slide down her throat. The Dead Guy was darker than the Sam Adams and Budweiser she was used to. More bitter. She'd grown to like the bitter taste. Lagers had become sour. And weak. Sour and weak. Not a good combination.

"Jesus…" she sighed. "When did Frankie get so smart?"

"Right about when you left for prison. He's been trying to make up for you not being around at the department. You know, Korsak calls him…"

"…Replacement Rizzoli. I know."

"He's turning out to be quite the detective. Not as good as you, though. That's why we need you.."

"Shit. I know what this line-up is. You're all tryna convince me to take Cavanaugh up on his offer. To get my badge back. We talked before. You know how I feel about that."

"And you know how _I _feel about that. And you're right. Cavanaugh told us all to try to warm you up. He really does want you back."

"Right, okay. I'm just a pain in his ass."

"Well he's got a bigger pain up his ass now. Brass has been up his ass. You know we got another Hoyt copy cat, Jane? It definitely isn't Hoyt, but it's a copy cat, alright. It's been cold for a year. But if you…"

"Don't say it, Frost," warned Jane. "Just… don't. I'll make my decision when the time comes. But you know what I'm thinking now. I guess… I kinda wanna talk to Maura first."

"She's here, you know."

"Shit, alright. I'm gonna go find her. You, uh, can finish my beer. Whatever."

"Ooh. Dead Guy. Good change in taste, partner."

Frost gratefully took a swig from the bottle before letting Jane leave. He chuckled to himself as he watched Jane zero in on the doctor immediately. The two never had admitted to it, but they had always known where to find the other. Instinctively. A lot of things had changed in the past three years. Partners. Badges. Beers. This, however, did not.

"Maura?" Jane's voice was husky.

"Jane."

"I just… I heard you were here. Thought I'd come by and say hi."

"Hello, Jane."

"How… how have you been?"

"Fine. I've been fine."

_Not really, though. You haven't been fine, have you? Didn't know you learned to lie._

Maura corrected herself; "Well not fine. I've been tired lately."

_Okay. So you didn't learn how to lie. Still telling half-truths, though. That's practically lying._

"Um…"

_Great, Rizzoli. Real eloquent. Maura probably thinks you're an idiot now. An ex-con idiot. A stupid ex-con idiot. Was that all you could think of? Um? Jesus, Rizzoli…_

"We haven't seen each other in a while. When your mother invited me… I thought I'd come."

_And see you,_ thought Maura.

"Why didn't you come visit me before?"

Jane's voice was quiet. Unsure. Scared, almost. Vulnerable. Maura flinched at the tone and struggled to come up with an answer. But Jane snapped to attention, quickly realizing what the question was.

"Sorry. That was stupid. A stupid question. You don't have to answer that. I, uh… I, uh, get why you didn't visit. It's okay."

"Jane…"

"Is there… any way I can make this up to you? Jesus, that's stupid, too. Okay. Uh…"

"Jane." Maura's voice was becoming sterner.

"Listen, I just… uh…"

" I will see you later, detective," Maura muttered. "I'm glad you're doing okay. Maybe I'll see you in the morgue. I know Lieutenant Cavanaugh is trying to get you reinstated. Good luck with that."

And then Maura walked away.

Granted, Jane had let her.

But that hadn't changed a thing. Not in Jane's mind. All it did was serve to corroborate what Jane had thought all along. Maura hated her. Maura hated what she had down. Maura couldn't _forgive _what she had done. And could she have blamed her? She knew Maura would react like this. She knew it the moment she threw the first punch.

But knowing didn't stop it from hurting.

She thought about what Frankie had asked her. If she would have done it all over again. The same way. If everything had played out again exactly the way they did.

_Yes_, she thought. _Of course_.

The answer had come to her without hesitation. There really was no doubt in her mind that she would have done it all the same way. Of everything that had happened, of everything that had become different shades of moral grey, this was the one thing she was sure about, the one thing that was black and white.

She would've done anything to have made the man stop.

And she had done just that.

"Rizzoli."

The voice ripped Jane from her thoughts.

"What?" Jane turned around harshly only to fall at a sort of haphazard "at attention." She grimaced. "Uh, sorry, Lieutenant. Didn't know it was you."

"It's good to have you back, kiddo."

"Uh, with all due respect, sir… I'm not really back."

"The hell you aren't. You're getting your badge back, Rizzoli."

"But, sir… What I did…"

"We had IA investigate the circumstances. You only went to prison for so long because your stubborn ass wanted to. They determined the whole thing fine. I've already got a psych eval set up for you on Monday."

"Not necessary, sir. I think I'm gonna have to decline. Don't think I can take my badge back."

"Hell, Rizzoli. I thought I told all those boys to soften you up to this! Didn't Frost tell you about the copy cat?"

"He did."

"Well then you know everything you need to know. Already talked to the governor. No one's got a problem with reinstating you. Even your parole officer's fine with it. We've got a good cop getting switched over to Homicide from the department down in New York. He's already slotted to be your partner. You won't have a gun 'till you're cleared again, but he's a damn good shot."

"Sir…"

"Listen to me, Rizzoli. You want to do your duty, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want to do your job, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I am _ordering _you, Rizzoli, to take your badge back, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. See you Monday."

Cavanaugh smiled, slightly, at having accomplished the mission. He wondered if he should treat himself to a celebratory beer… Or talk Vince into buying one for him. That would be fresh. Vince Korsak buying him a round. It's been a while since that happened. He swore when Jane called out at him.

"What about making me go out on the beat?"

"Just shut it, Rizzoli. I gave you an order."

"Aye aye, sir," muttered Jane, under her breath.

Cavanaugh ignored the comment.

Jane dutifully stayed in the Dirty Robber until everyone had left and Angela was content. She had already heard an earful from the woman at the holding cell back when everything had happened, so now, Angela was only glad to have her daughter back.

"I'm uh… I need to go find something. I'm gonna head out, okay, Ma?"

"You do what you need to do, honey."

Jane was out the door before Angela had even finished her sentence.

She had only one thought in her mind.

She needed to find Maura.


	3. Karma Police

**I don't own anything.**

**Karma Police - Radiohead**

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><p><strong><em>"A nickel isn't worth a dime today."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

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><p>Floater. Harbor. Jane Rizzoli stepped into the car, uncharacteristically quiet. It wasn't her car, and she found her legs begin to cramp as she squeezed herself into the passenger seat. The acidic smell of ketchup began to waft towards her, and she scrunched her nose as she looked over to the driver's seat.<p>

"Got two hwot dwags, here if you want one of 'em. You know there ain't a damn ounce of sauerkraut in this whole goddamn city?"

"Uh, no."

"You want a dwag?"

"I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

The car sped down the streets, barreling down as if the whole thing was some scene out of Starsky and Hutch. Jane wrapped her fingers around one of the handles jutting out of the interior, steadying herself. The man beside her took another bite out of the hot dog, carefully assuring that not a single drop of the ketchup dropped down on his suit.

"This how they drive in New York?"

"This is how _I _drive in New York. It's only me and those damn cabbies down there."

"Great," mumbled Jane.

"Listen, I heard about what you did."

"Don't you start on that too. I didn't do anything _heroic_."

"That wasn't what I was gonna say," he growled, in response. "I was _gonna _say that that was a pretty shitty ass thing you did. If this happened in the city, hell you'd be locked up for a lot longer. And no way would they give you your badge back."

"I'm glad we agree on something."

"_However_." He stuffed the end of ketchup soaked bun into his mouth, savoring the taste. "I get why you did it. I heard all the details. You did something shitty. But I get why."

"Great. All my dreams have come true," muttered Jane, sarcastically.

Her mind floated back to the conversation she had with Cavanaugh just that morning…

"_Here's a badge. No gun. But a badge. It's an auxiliary badge, but it'll have to do."_

"_You know how I feel about this, Lieutenant."_

"_And _you _know how I feel about this too. Let me tell you something else, Rizzoli. I'm not saying you're off the hook. What you've been saying, it's absolutely right. If you were a civilian, and you were put in the same circumstances, I'd say a minimum sentence would've been fair enough. But _you, Rizzoli, _are a cop. And you're right. It doesn't place you above the law. You're held to a higher standard. That's the rule. So do _not _take any of this to mean that you are off the hook."_

"_Then why am I getting this badge?"_

"_Because we got a job to do. Because you're a good cop, and our detectives are starting to see just as many cases as they did back in the eighties. We need more cops. But we need _good _cops. You're it. It wasn't a black and white decision, Rizzoli. But it was a decision. My decision. Whatever you think… Whatever you think should've happened to you… Throw that outta your mind. I'm sticking my neck out for you, Rizzoli. Don't let me down. Understand?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Good. Your new partner's waiting outside. I told him everything already. You two don't have to get into it. The two of you need to get down on to the harbor. A couple uniforms picked up a floater. The cordoned the area, but we need detectives on the scene."_

_Jane nodded, taking the information in. The badge was deceivingly light in her hands. It reminded her of the day she graduated from the Police Academy, a similar light-weight badge pinned to her, and a gun strapped to her belt, weighing the pressed trousers down._

_The day she had killed him… The badge felt heavy._

"Well we're here. Jesus, it smells like shit."

"You smell like shit, Mahardy."

"Aw well fuck you. I smell like roses."

Jane internally smiled to herself as she climbed out of the car. As much as she hated to admit, she did like Mahardy. Cocky. Sarcastic. Pissed off. A New Yorker, born and bred. Experienced, too. She crinkled her nose, already able to smell the putrid smell of decomp rippling from the floater. She hated floaters.

A uniform walked up to the detectives and offered them a dip from the little jar of cream he held, the kind that made all the smell waft right away from the nostrils. Most of the detectives had usually taken him up on the offer. Especially with a body as nasty as this one.

Both detectives refused, preferring not to compromise what their noses could tell them.

"Could be worse," Mahardy said. "Try getting a floater on the goddamn Hudson. The damn river smells bad enough on its own."

"But _you_ smell like roses."

"'Course I do."

Jane turned to one of the uniforms. They all knew her. They all respected her. Mahardy on the other hand. They only knew him as the new guy who came up from New York to take the homicide slot. Probably a damn Yankees fan too.

"Where's the first responder?"

"She's over there, detective. Filling out some of the papers. She marked the area off on land. Managed to keep some of them boats away too."

"Alright. Tell me something about the vic."

The uniform paused before speaking; "He dead."

Jane cracked a smile. The humor. It always rubbed the edge off a little. It was the one thing that all cops were sure as hell damn good at. Being funny over a dead body. More of 'em ought to become comedians. Hell, she'd pay to see that.

"Very funny, kid," growled Jane, though the smile twitched evidently on her lips. "Tell me something real."

"Checked for pockets. He doesn't have any. No ID, no nothing. No fingerprints either."

"Alright. Take someone with you and start questioning these people here."

Jane gestured at the gathering crowd. The uniform's eyes bulged.

"All of them?"

"Yeah, all of them. Go on, now. Shoo."

The uniform scuttled away, and Mahardy looked up from the body laughing to himself. He caught Jane's eye.

"The kid's right. No fingerprints, no ID."

"Damn it."

"But, uh, I think I know this guy. His face looks like some fuck took a shit on it and rubbed it in good, so I can't be sure. But I got a guess."

"Well what's your guess?"

"He looks a lot like a guy I questioned down in New York. Started off building bombs for the Latin Kings. Then he graduated to the big leagues."

"Al Qaeda?"

"Naw. Nothing like that. Worse."

"Worse?"

"I'm thinking home-grown."

"Shit. And now he's here in Boston."

"I'm guessing he's making some sorta sale. Could already have made the deal."

"Alright. We gotta call this in to HQ. We gotta put this one down fast."

"Think we should wait for the ME?"

Jane froze at the thought of Maura Isles. She thought of the conversation they had had. After the "welcome home" party her Ma thought would be a good idea to throw. She thought about how she had found her in the morgue. And then she thought, bitterly, just how much she had missed her. And how much she had hurt her.

Maura.

That was all Jane Rizzoli could think about. Her mind didn't stray once from those five letters. All she could think about was how the name dripped out from her lips. All she could think about was how the name tasted on her tongue. Sweet. Round. Viscous, but soft. Thick molasses.

"_Jane," said the doctor, carefully._

"_Maura? Would you look at me? Maura!"_

"_Jane."_

"_I know… I know what I did was fucked up. I know it. I know I should still be locked away right now. If they let me have my way, I'd still be in there. Believe me. I tried. But that doesn't do us any good now. Please, Maura. Just… please could you look at me?"_

"_Jane…"_

"_Don't do this to me, Maura. C'mon. Please."_

_Maura felt something in her snap, and she felt the words leave her faster than she could think about them; "Don't do this to you? Do what to you, Jane? What? I'm sorry that I'm not warming up to you. I'm sorry. I really am. But what you're doing right now isn't going to fix anything. It isn't going to fix what you did."_

"_I know that… Maura, I do."_

"_Then why did you do it, Jane? You keep saying you know what this is about, but do you? Do you know what this is about?"_

"_You're right. I guess I don't. I don't know a lot of things. But I know that I'm sorry. I… You don't have to forgive me. I just… Please look at me, Maura. I've missed you."_

_Despite her better instincts, Maura felt her heart clench at Jane's words. Her honest words. But she shook her head, waving away the thoughts that were starting to wash over her. She ignored them for the stronger emotion that had taken hold._

"_I need answers, Jane."_

"_Then ask me the questions."_

"_Did you know who he was?"_

_Jane looked down at her hands, as she considered the question. She looked up at Maura, the bitter honesty burning through her eyes; "Yes," she said, quietly._

"_You knew that he was my brother?"_

"_Yes," she said again, quietly._

"_And you killed him."_

"_I'm not denying that I did."_

_Maura's next question was more tentative. Not as quick. Quieter._

"_Would you do it again?"_

"_Yes," said Jane._

_Her voice was hoarse, as if razors jutted out of the word and ripped her throat to shreds as it left her tongue. She watched as Maura looked away, and she watched as Maura choked back a sob. She felt her heart clench. She wanted nothing more than to close the gap and hold Maura, tell her that she wasn't alone. Tell her that she'd kick the ass of whoever made the stupid decision to hurt her._

_But she couldn't._

_It had been her – Jane – who had hurt Maura._

_And so had Jane relinquished the privilege of knowing she could stand by Maura's side. Of knowing that she could help her. Comfort her. Protect her. Because she couldn't do any of those things any more._

She needs protecting from me,_ Jane thought bitterly._

_Maura felt the question that had been eating away at her for three years leave her mouth; "Why, Jane? Why?"_

"_That… I…" Jane looked down at her hands again, considering the question. When she looked up, the determined honesty that had before filled her eyes had begun to dissipate. No, Jane couldn't tell her the truth. Better that Maura hated Jane rather than the memory of her own flesh and blood. "I can't answer that one, Maura."_

"_And why not?" Maura's voice was frantic._

"_I just… I can't. I'm sorry, Maura. Please know that. I'm so sorry."_

"_I just want you to tell me why."_

"_It won't erase anything." Jane watched as Maura fiddled with a ring. "Nothing I do… I can't fix this, can I? Our friendship?"_

"_I don't think so, Jane."_

_Jane Rizzoli felt her heart break._

_She did an about face and left the autopsy room through the double doors, her heart continuing to shatter. And it didn't stop breaking. It never did. Every fragment would break into fractions, only to have each new fraction break into even more. Again and again and again. And Jane was really left with nothing with a pile of what used to be her heart, constantly breaking into finer and finer particles._

_As she walked away from Maura Isles, Jane could only think of the first moment when she had realized that she had fallen in love with the other woman._

_That she would do anything to protect her._

_And Jane's only solace was the knowledge that she had, despite the painful consequences that had come with it._

Jack Mahardy's voice, laden with the distinctive New York accent, tore through Jane's thoughts. He looked up at her inquisitively, and she wondered if she had been standing there for long. She looked down at him and the body again.

"So are we waiting for the ME, or what?"

"No," said Jane. "We're not."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry this took so long to post. Just a quick thing about Mahardy's accent. Hard to write in a New York accent. So some of his words are converted. The rest you'll just have to imagine. ;)<strong>


	4. Shiny Magazine

**I don't own anything**

**Shiny Magazine - JET**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"It was impossible to get a conversation going; everybody was talking too much."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p>"I hate this. We've been at it for the past two days non-stop. Hell, we've been working through with the night shift. And nothing."<p>

"Whoever it is, the guy's a goddamn ghost. He cleaned up after himself good. Fuck." Mahardy scowled into his drink. "We don't even got C-O-D."

This was a new piece of information. Jane wrested her eyes from the counter to look at her the partner she had recently been saddled with; "You're telling me Maura couldn't get cause of death?"

"Would else would I've been saying?" scowled Mahardy again. "Dr. Isles _refused_ to even make a guess. Not one speculation. Said something about it being ridiculous. Trusting intestines or the other. Had no fucking idea what she was saying, that one."

Jane laughed. Her next words were quiet; "Yeah, she's like that. But she's good at her job. Best ME I've worked with."

"That's what ever police says about their ME," he laughed. "Naw. I know she's good at what she does. This whole thing just rubs me wrong. She did say something about finding pineapple in the skin of the fingers. She started off on something about chemicals and shit." He waved his hand, as if he were trying to push away, what seemed to him, nonsensical science. "Think it had something to do with pineapples being good at removing fingerprints."

"Pineapple at this time of year?"

"Well it isn't easy to get. But possible. Leftover stock from the summer maybe?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Jane had pushed aside her empty beer bottle a long while ago and noticed the drained glass in front of Mahardy. He twirled it with his index finger, the cubes of ice crashing against the sides. He took one and stuck it in his mouth. The ice broke between his molars in resounding crunches.

"Hey, uh, get us two Jack and Cokes," called Jane, holding her hand up in the air. "Don't be so heavy with the coke."

"Sure thing. Two Jack and Cokes."

Mahardy paused from his task of grinding the ice cube between his teeth to look at Jane.

"You tryna get me drunk enough to get into bed with you, Rizzoli?"

"Keep chasing the dream, Mahardy," growled Jane, smiling. "I'll let you believe that one for now."

"That'll be the day."

Little bubbles rose from the bottom of the glasses to the top, creating pockets of air in the rich, brown liquid. Jane lifted the drink to her nose. She could smell the Jack. Good. She needed it. To wipe the edge off. It's been years since she'd gotten to have a good glass of whiskey in her. Years.

"I didn't see you in autopsy. You cheating on me?"

Jane nodded along to the hidden question. Damn police. Communication issues abound.

"You stink, Mahardy. Worse than that floater. I've got reason enough to stay away."

Message sent. Message received. Mahardy nodded.

"Like roses, baby. I smell like roses." He paused before looking over at Jane, with a wink. "I know you're just too chicken of all them dead people. Can take the rest of the autopsies."

"I got more balls than you do, Mahardy."

"Your welcome." This was one was sincere. Mahardy's voice changed, lowered; "Listen. She asked for you. Wanted to know where you was."

"You must've heard wrong."

"Well the whole damn time she looked like she was about to cut one of the arms clean off. I was afraid blood was gonna start pissing everywhere."

"Maura's not like that."

"You weren't there, Rizzoli."

Jane winced; "But I know her. You read the goddamn report," she said bitterly. The pretext had all but disappeared. "You know what I did. To her. She won't look at me. She doesn't want to see me. It's that simple."

"Hell, Rizzoli. You're some kind of idiot, aren't you?"

"Leave it alone."

"That chick misses you." He waved his armed gesturing towards an imagined crowd. "I hear things at the precinct. You two were best friends, right? Stuck like glue."

"Yeah. Three years ago, Mahardy. And before I went off waving my gun around. You do the math."

"I'm not good at math." Mahardy's statement was simple, blunt. He stared at Jane. "And don't tell me I'm not seeing what I say I'm seeing. Keep in mind I don't like it when my partners hide shit. It makes for bad _unit cohesion_. And all that bullcrap. So don't act like you're not telling me something. If you think that I didn't notice… Well then I'm _very _offended. You clearly don't think I'm very good at my job."

"You stink too much to be good at your job. The perp can probably smell you from a mile out."

"Rizzoli," he warned.

"I care about you," she finally relented, annoyed. "I care about her, okay?"

"And?"

"_And_ it's better that she hates me, not her own family. I don't want her to end up thinking everybody who's related to her are a bunch of criminals. It's better that she keeps at least _one _of 'em in good light. She's gonna start thinking that her blood's all messed up. I'd rather have her hate me."

"You telling me you haven't told her what really happened?"

"You gonna make me say that all again?"

"Damn, Rizzoli. You really are some kind of idiot. I've met kids who're smarter than you."

"Never said I was smart," replied Jane, bluntly.

"You don't think she's got you down as part of her family, too? You're a cop, Rizzoli. You know family extends beyond all that flesh-and-blood crap. I know enough and I've heard enough to _deduce _that the two of you were tight. Like _family _tight."

"It doesn't matter how things used to be, Mahardy. Hoyt… Hoyt had her all messed up. That's my fault too. A lot of this is my fault. So this is me fixing things. Making things right."

"Well you're going about it all wrong."

"That's not up to you."

"It is if it affects our job."

"It's not gonna affect anything."

"You love her don't you?"

Jane coughed, immediately feeling her throat go dry. She suddenly became painfully aware of the few people around her. It didn't matter that they were all too distracted – engrossed by their respective drinks – to notice that the two cops were even having a conversation. It only mattered that they were there, and they only allowed Jane's mind furiously race into hundreds of different scenarios. What if's. She coughed again. Her throat still felt dry.

"What the hell, Mahardy? _Jesus_ Christ…"

"I guess I got my answer then. This should get interesting."

"Fuck you," Jane muttered, wryly.

The phone on Jane's hip rang, and she brought it to her ear, glad that _something _had thought to interrupt their conversation.

"Rizzoli… Yeah… Okay, sir. We'll be right there… I'd say in five or ten."

She hung up the phone and answered Mahardy's questioning gaze; "Cavanaugh wants us back at the precinct. Someone on the night shift was just giving our case a look over. Has us some info. A possible lead."

"Alright. Let's go."

The two rushed out of the bar, leaving their untouched Jack & Cokes behind. The bartender sighed and emptied the glasses into the sink. What a waste of good whiskey, he thought.

* * *

><p>Maura stared down at the body, sewing up the Y-incision she had made. Jane hadn't come to the autopsy. Not that she expected that the detective would. She had every reason to believe that Jane <em>wouldn't <em>come down, and she had every reason to believe that she didn't _want _Jane to come down. But that didn't stop the growing pit in her stomach.

Detective Mahardy had come in Jane's steed. A good detective. A thorough detective. A lot like Jane, except that he carried that distinct New York accent. It had been a little pleasant to listen to – a nice reminder of that short time she had spent in the large city – and he had gone on about the intricacies of why the Yankees were better than the Red Sox. He had begun his tirade on the Knicks and Amar'e Stoudemire when she stopped him with a terse, rubber-gloved hand.

"_Detective, would you mind telling me why Jane didn't come down with you?"_

"_Rizzoli? Oh, yeah. She wanted to stay upstairs to put some finishing touches on some paperwork."_

"_She hates paperwork."_

"_Who doesn't?" he said, with a toothy smile. "She probably wanted to get away from this one." He pointed at the opened up body lying on the autopsy table. "The guy stinks worse than a Manhattan garbage truck."_

"_Yes… Decomposition is made much more putrid when the body is submerged in water."_

_Mahardy smiled to himself, satisfaction etched all across his face. Clearly he had gathered what he had been looking for. She couldn't help but wonder what it was the detective had been searching for. And there it was again, that tight, knotted feeling weighing down on her intestines._

_She ignored the feeling._

"_Uh, yeah, right. So what else do you got for me, doc?"_

Jane Rizzoli permeated her mind once again. When did it all start to go wrong?

"I didn't see it coming," she murmured, as she pushed the needle through the leathery skin. "I should've but I didn't." She looked down at the pale body. "I had spent the previous night with her. Everything seemed fine… There should've been signs but I couldn't find them."

The body didn't answer. Of course it didn't answer.

"Could I have stopped her? She still didn't tell me why. I still don't know why. Don't I have the right to know?"

She sighed.

"A part of me thought I could let things go back to normal. I don't know why I said the things that I said. I _have _missed her. I've missed her a lot. It's been awfully lonely. Even with Angela staying in the guesthouse. This all feels wrong."

She sighed again.

"It feels as if… something is missing. That's it. Like something is missing."

She scrunched her face, creases forming between her eyebrows.

"I don't know that either."

She looked down at the body again, frustrated.

"I'm a doctor, and I still don't know a thing. Why don't I know? Jane is… and… I still don't know. But I should, shouldn't I?"

_Jane had her eyes avidly glued to the television in front of her. The beer in her hand had warmed, and she was too distracted to notice. The pitcher tried for a fastball down the middle. The hit flew off screen, and the cameras cut to the outfield, the ball landing safely in the crowd._

"_No! Don't do that! What the hell, Lester! Goddamnit."_

"_You can't change the outcome of the game, Jane."_

"_I know," she retorted. "But I'm pissed. I mean c'mon! We were up four! Grand slam and boom. Tie game. Jesus."_

_She brought the beer to her lips, only to spit it back into the bottle. Warm beer. Warm beer is gross. Back to the game. She watched as the pitcher began his wind-up once again. Preparing to send another pitch at the batter. The bat swung in the air like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth. Her eyes were once again glued to the screen, and she was briefly aware that Maura was saying something to her._

"…_You're not listening to me, are you, Jane?"_

"_No."_

_Jane turned her had and let a smile touch her lips; "I'm sorry. Really. What were you saying?"_

"_I was _trying _to explain to you the most efficient way to swing a baseball bat. In terms of the muscles utilized. It's a fascinating subject."_

_Jane smiled again; "I'm sure it is."_

"_So why aren't we at the Dirty Robber tonight?"_

"_I wanted to spend time with you," Jane said, shyly. "I was getting tired of the bar, you know?"_

"_Aren't you getting tired of coming here so often?"_

"_No; of course not. Besides, like I said. Wanted to spend more time with you. Without everyone buzzing around."_

"_I'm flattered."_

"_You should be," muttered Jane, pouting._

"_Do you want to put in the movie now?"_

"_Uh, yeah. Go ahead. I don't wanna watch the Sox lose, anyway."_

_She switched the TV into DVD mode as the pitcher proceeded to walk the batter. She watched as Maura left the couch to gently place the disk into the player, grabbing it by the edges, so as not to touch the mirrored underside. The disk began to whir inside the machine._

"_What're we watching?"_

"_The Blind Side."_

"_The Blind Side?"_

"_Yes. It has all the attributes I like in a movie, and it's about football. We can both enjoy it this time."_

"_I thought you liked all my football movies," teased Jane._

"_I never said that," replied Maura, comically scrunching her nose._

"_What about all those action movies you said you loved?" Jane said, feigning horror and disbelief._

"_Well I did enjoy the Italian Job… I like those better. Please don't make me watch Angels in the Outfield again."_

"_That one's about baseball, Maur."_

"_They're all the same."_

"_No, they're not!"_

"_Let's just start the movie, Jane."_

_And Maura had sidled up beside Jane, briefly noticing that the detective had visibly tensed and relaxed all at once from the contact. They watched the movie in a comfortable silence that neither had truly experienced with anyone else. That night, Maura Isles knew only one thing: she was happy._

Slowly, Maura closed the autopsy room down, turning off the lights and grabbing her purse. Bitterly, she remembered that she wouldn't be on call this weekend. Bitterly, she distracted herself with memories of one Jane Rizzoli, desperately trying to discover the answers to her questions: the reasons why.

* * *

><p>"Were you two at a bar?" grunted Cavanaugh.<p>

"Yeah, we were," replied Jane. "We only had a beer each. If that makes things better."

"Whatever. You'll both be fine. We need everything the two of you got for this case."

"Don't you want more people on it?" asked Mahardy, skeptical. "I mean, c'mon."

"We don't have any real confirmation. Only what you said. Adding more detectives to this case will only get the captain looking over your shoulder on this one. And don't forget about the damn media. We have to be sure before we have this whole damn city scared about some Boston Bomber."

"We're not very creative with our names, are we?" muttered Jane. "What do we got?"

"I just spoke with the night shift lieutenant. One of the detectives just had a quick glance over your case… after a uniform brought in some punk who says he knows something. The detective recognized some similarities to a string of homicides his partner is working. Undercover. You two get all of that."

"Yes, sir." Mahardy turned to Jane. "You want to interview the kid, or you wanna go follow up on the lead."

"Guess."

Mahardy audibly sighed and turned towards the interrogation room.


	5. I'll Never Be Lonely Again

**I don't own anything.**

**I'll Never Be Lonely Again - Ludo**

* * *

><p><em><strong>"I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early"<strong>_

_**Yogi Berra**_

* * *

><p>Her thoughts drifted to Maura. They always did. In those painful, idle moments, she couldn't help but think of the other woman. And she had had a lot of those painful, idle moments. That was prison's gift. Idle moments confined to a small claustrophobic room. Staring at the ceiling. Within three year's time, Jane had memorized every inch of that ceiling. It made her wish she had offered to take the bottom rack instead.<p>

During mail call, Jane was one of the lucky few to receive things from the outside world. Letters. Letters from Ma. Letters from Frankie, from Tommy (who himself still occupied a similar space). Letters from Frost and Korsak. Korsak would ramble on about Joe Friday and Watson, the small turtle (no, tortoise). Frost would stick to what he could tell her about his new caseload. Frankie would write about his stories from the beat. Tommy would give somebody to talk to, somebody who could relate. And Ma would write about the handsome lawyer Jane could meet as soon as she was sprung.

But she never received a letter from Maura.

Not one.

Not even a postcard.

She would pretend, sometimes, that the guards had picked them all out and stashed them, purposefully hiding them from the detective. And she would imagine herself skillfully navigating the prison's defenses – not to escape, but simply to find the letters. And she would find them, in a potato sack that would come up to her waist. She'd bring them back to her cell and read every one of them and feel that warmth in her chest once more.

But she knew the guards didn't even touch the letters. She knew there was no potato sack. She knew there were no letters from Maura.

Every time one of the guards would come to tell her that a visitor had dropped by, she would play through a scenario in her head. That she would get to that room filled with metal tables and chairs and guards and jumpsuits and concerned family members. And Maura would be there, sitting at one of the empty tables, waiting for her.

Her heart would break every time she saw someone else. Whether it was Ma or Frankie or Frost. She never let them know, though. She never let it show on her face, her sheer and utter disappointment.

The realizations were always brutal awakenings, but she incessantly kept her hope up anyway.

Even as she was living that god forsaken prison in that last year, she had imagined Maura waiting beside of the hood of a car.

_Hi_, she would say, quietly, and Jane would move closer.

They would hug.

_Hi_, Maura would say again, but this time more forcefully.

She'd find a piece of fabric with her thumb and forefinger and grind it between the two small pads. She'd look it, contemplating, only to look up at Jane, her big eyes wide with curiosity.

_You have a reddish-brown stain on your shirt_, she'd say.

_It's barbeque sauce_, Jane would say, whispering back.

Then they would linger until the guards would begin to give them funny looks. They'd get into that car and drive away to lose themselves in the simpler, happier forms of life. Like struggling to keep your eyes open through the end of a movie, and silently letting yourself fall asleep to the soothing music of the rolling credits. With _her _by your side.

Yes, she kept her hope up anyway.

After all, it was all she had left.

Morning was beginning to break when he finally showed up to the meet-point. He wore jeans and a generic grey sweatshirt. No badge. No gun. Jane knew better than to flash her credentials. If anyone passed by, they were just two individuals waiting for the train in a low traffic station on the T. That's all they were.

"About time."

"Think it's easy getting out of a commune without setting off the alarms?"

"If they noticed that you're gone?"

"They won't."

"Still."

"What do you need to know?"

"I'm working a homicide. Your partner said our cases might be related."

"Talk me up."

"We found a floater down at the harbor. We couldn't find a COD, we had no ID, no fingerprints. The guy was a ghost. We couldn't even get a hit on facial recognition. No witnesses. All we got is some kid who claims to know something about this. And you. Still don't know what the connection is."

"Neither do I. You got more?"

"One more thing. My partner thinks this is some small-time bomb guy from New York. By the name of Rick Watson. Sound familiar?"

"Hell yeah. You shoulda started with that. You got a picture?"

Jane nodded and pulled the photo out of one of her pockets. White eyes stared up out of the pictures, and the mouth was agape. The man's features were clearer now that the city harbor muck had been wiped from his skin. His blond hair was matted down, and his nose seemed as though it was too large for his face; it was sharp, skinny, and long. It protruded like a splinter between his cheeks. His eyebrows were skinny, too. Like his lips. Skinny was a motif when it came to this man.

"He looks all fucked up, but that's Rick. No denying it."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"Well…"

"His hands came up positive. He was working on a bomb here. You gotta tell me what you know. And fast. Your partner was all hush-hush. Wouldn't tell me a word about the whole thing. I don't know what's going on here, and I don't like not knowing."

"This is a highly sensitive operation."

"I don't _care_. If that bomb goes off somewhere in Boston… Do you want me to finish? You want another goddamn 9/11?"

"Get up."

"What?"

"Just get up. We're leaving."

Jane cautiously complied. For a fleeting second she wished that Cavanaugh had forced a gun on her too. A nice, clean M9 Beretta would've felt _really _nice then. Really nice.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me where we're going and why."

"We're getting on the goddamn train to someplace more secure. You wanna know more about your case? Well I got more to tell you, but not here. This is bigger than you think."

"Bullshit. Bigger than a bomb going off in the middle of Boston?"

"Hell yeah."

"Are you at least gonna tell me what your undercover mission is? You said commune. You worried about a bunch of old school hippies?"

"Ha, ha. No. I'll tell you everything in a little bit."

"Why can't you tell me here?"

"Now that I know what this is, I'm moving this conversation to someplace more secure. I need to know that no one's listening in, that no one knows what I'm about to say. Not even some regular Joe stumbling around this early in the morning. There are too many risks here."

"Alright. I'll come with you."

Jane followed the cop out of the station, an uneasy feeling settling in every inch of skin, in every pore. _Get a hold of yourself, Rizzoli. Your "_intestine" _could be wrong on this one. You never know. Get this done._

* * *

><p>"Are you gonna say something, or not?"<p>

Mahardy waved at the bag of chips and soda, using his other hand to keep poking away at his phone.

"Figured you just came by and told us some shit story so you could get some free food. Well, here it is."

"You're not gonna ask anything?"

"Hey, I busted my ass all the way downstairs to get you those Doritos. Now eat 'em."

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay. Fine. Suit yourself."

Mahardy opened up the bag and took a chip out. He chewed slowly, letting the sound of breaking corn chip resonate through the room. There were only two sounds: the ever present whir that inhabited all the interrogation rooms and the sound of Mahardy chewing a Dorito.

"I'm not gonna say anything to you. Nothing, you hear?"

"Why'd you tell us you knew something, then?" Mahardy's voice was calm. Nonchalant.

"I changed my mind."

"Suit yourself."

Mahardy began to chew on another chip. He licked the flavored powder off of his fingers. The silence echoed.

"You know what's great about the Yanks? The history. Boy, the history. You know, all those greats we hear about… Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Lou Gehrig, Yogi Berra, Joe DiMaggio… Can't even name all of them boys. But shit. They made history. You know what was great about DiMaggio? The man never let emotion show. Never. Well, he did once. Some guy caught one of his hits. He thought the thing was going all the way for the homer. He just gave the little dirt a kick." Mahardy lightly slid the palm of his hand across a small inch of table. "And then ran back to the dugout. Just like that. Hell, they kept playing that clip. The great Joe DiMaggio! Shows emotion! A little scuff in the dirt. Ha. Isn't that something?"

"What the hell's going on?"

Mahardy ignored the young man; "And then you got Babe. You can't forget Babe Ruth. Came in from the Sox, true, but I just see it as a good ballplayer finally seein' the light. The good light. You Sox fan? Don't like Sox fans. They got that whole curse bullshit… I just say they played bad ball for eighty years. 'Course they're much better now. Much better. Worthy of being a rival, don't you think? I mean, it's about time. They did get swept away oh-nine by the Twins during the playoffs… That's embarrassing."

"The hell is this?"

"The new guys are something too. You know, those core four guys. Jeter, Posada, Riviera, Pettite… Jeter's something. So's Riviera. Have you seen the guy's ERA? Insane. He goes up on the mound and you know there isn't gonna be any more runs. All that stuff, though, about A-Rod. He's not too much of real Yank. Not like Jeter… He doesn't got the _history_… The _character_… He's just a temp. A good ballplayer wearing pinstripes… But not a _real _Yankee…"

"I'll tell you what you need to know! Just stop talking!"

"What is it that I need to know?"

"You need to know about the guy you guys found. The guy who makes bombs for a living."

"Okay. What about this guy?"

"He was making a bomb."

"Well that's a damn stroke of genius you're having there. What, you from Harvard?"

"He was making a bomb for a bunch of terrorists."

"Who? Islamists? Al Qaeda? Some damn Christian fundamentalists? Who?"

"None of those."

"Whattaya mean none of those?"

"_I mean_, he was making a bomb for a bunch of _Buddhist_ extremists. They call themselves the Theravada. Now that we're winding down in Iraq and Afghanistan, they're already planning their moves."

"_Buddhist _extremists?"

"Yeah. They believe… that excesses of the capitalist world are defilements. Against the Buddhist faith. They believe that everybody else is preventing the world from moving into enlightenment. So they hired your dead guy to make a bomb."

"What do you know about the bomb?" Mahardy's voice grew louder. He leaned in across the table. "Tell me what you know about the bomb! Did he finish it? Where is it? What are they planning?"

"I don't know! What I've told you… It's all I could find out."

"How the hell do you know all of this?"

"I _don't _go to Harvard. I go to BC. I've been studying Extremism in eastern religions. When these guys showed up on my radar, I went in and checked. They all live on a commune. The guy you found… The guy whose picture they've been showing on TV… I saw him in the commune. I overheard them discussing a bomb, and I got out."

"Why didn't you say any of this any sooner?" growled Mahardy.

"They're not entirely wrong. Maybe we need a kill switch. Our country's going down the shithole because of this messed-up culture and messed-up government."

"Innocent people, kid."

"Hey. I came in and talked in the end, didn't I?"

Mahardy simply grunted, grabbing the soda on the way out of the room. He slurped, once again breaking the silence of the interrogation room. He noticed Frankie out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, little Rizzoli!"

"Yeah?"

"You working on a case right now?"

"No."

"Find me everything you can about the Theravada."

* * *

><p>Jane Rizzoli wearily chewed on the pad of her thumb; "Holy shit."<p>

"Yeah."

"You're telling me…"

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Make good use of this info, Rizzoli. I'm gonna see what more I can get undercover. It's all I can do now."

"That sounds good."

The information was overwhelming. More than overwhelming. It dug at her insides.

She didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. They were near silent. Impossible to even try to notice. The man might as well have been a ghost. It would have been useless to have tried to keep on the watch for someone like him. They could've been more alert than soldiers out of the wire pumped with adrenaline. And they still wouldn't have noticed.

"What the… Who're… Rizzoli! Behind…!"

Before Jane could even begin to comprehend the words yelled at her, a red, third eye appeared smack dab in the center of the cop's forehead. Blood began to dribble from the hole, and he fell backwards, landing on the ground with a round and heavy _thunk_.

And then she felt the butt of a pistol against the back of her head.


	6. Clouds of Unknowing

**I still don't own anything.**

**Clouds of Unknowing - Gorrillaz (feat. Bobby Womack and Sinfonia Viva)**

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><p><strong><em>"The other teams could make trouble for us if they win."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p>Jane woke up.<p>

_I can't move my hands… Shit._

Sure enough, they were ducktaped to a steering wheel. She stared down at the blue and white Ford logo, the one centered smack in the middle of the wheel. She tried to move her hands again. And again to no avail. They didn't even budge. Not one inch. _This is some sort of sadistic way to kill someone. Cheesy. This guy watched too many Bond movies as a kid or something…_

She looked around: grey seat covers. At least one other row of seats. A black dashboard. The numbers are illuminated. Glowing. A touchscreen conveniently placed beside the dashboard. Not that she could touch it. She looked down; there was enough space for her long legs to feel comfortable.

She tried to move them.

_I can't move these either… Damn it. This isn't gonna go well._

Again, she swiveled her head around. A piece of trash. A business card. Anything. She needed to know. She needed to know where she was. She needed to know who shot the cop back in the dinky little motel room. She cursed. The windows were painted black. Well, Maura would've called them a navy blue. But that didn't matter. She couldn't see out the damn windows.

_Crap, my faces itches. Fine time for that._

The door clicked open. Jane twitched.

"I see you've made yourself at home."

The voice was dark. Deep. Generic.

Not Hoyt.

"What do you want?"

"Not much. Not from you, anyway. This car. It's nice, isn't it? A Ford Explorer. Three rows of seats that fold down. State of the art navigation system. A good all around truck. It's also excessive. Too excessive. It symbolizes excessive. Do you know what's wrong with that, detective?"

"I don't care."

"You should care. Can't you imagine it? A world without strife? _Enlightenment_? Imagine that world, detective. You've seen the worst people can do. But when we eliminate the excessive nature of _people_… Then we will all be able to attain it. The higher state of mind."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You know why. That little mole told you too much. We cannot let the plan fail. The plan is of the upmost importance. It will bring about a new era."

"Then why not just put one through my head?"

Jane's voice was irritated. She watched as the cloth mask twisted around. She imagined the face beneath it taking on a calm expression of contemplation. He looked down at her. His eyes, his blue eyes, were like that of every terrorist she had every seen. Determined. Filled with purpose. But they were different. Soft, almost.

"A good question. Punishment. Sympathy, maybe."

"Those are some conflicting words you got there."

"They might seem so, at first. We've grown, as a people, accustomed to having everything served up to us on a silver platter. _That's_ what we're ending. As for you… I know who you are, Detective Rizzoli. A felon. That is… unacceptable."

"Look who's talking…"

"You shouldn't speak out of turn, detective. But you are correct. I am in no position to judge you. However, I am willing to take the fall for the benefit of others. Perhaps, in the next life, I will return as nothing more than a simple moth in the sky. But the _rest of the world_ will instead inch steps closer to enlightenment. That thought is enough for me."

"How noble of you," muttered Jane, sarcasm deeply intertwined with her voice.

"But _sympathy_, detective," said the masked man, his voice turning to wonder. He ignored Jane. "You _must _understand. I am _saving _you. Perhaps by killing you now… You will be prevented from committing more atrocities in the future. You will reincarnate a better being for it. I am not a monster, detective. I only want the best for this world."

"What about all those people who're gonna die? Because of you?"

"Collateral damage. A necessary sacrifice. We're willing to make all the sacrifices in order to fulfill our mission. But nevertheless, we will remember them. They shall not be forgotten. They shall be honored. Martyrs. The universe will reward them for their sacrifices. We are giving them a gift."

"Couldn't you wrap up nice little Christmas presents, instead?"

"Your humor amuses me, detective. It's a shame that all of this must happen. But you understand, don't you? We are two soldiers on opposing sides of war. There is truly nothing personal about this. I sincerely apologize. Had we met in any other circumstances, I'm sure we could have struck up a much more amiable acquaintance."

"Whatever. Don't call me a soldier. I'm not a soldier."

"Ah. I'm sorry. I forgot how much pride some of you can have. My mistake. But you understand, don't you?"

"Let me tell you what I don't understand. I don't understand how you can let all those people die. You can talk all you want about the two of us being on different sides of a war. They're not on any side. They're innocent. They didn't do anything."

"On the contrary, detective. In this war against excesses, they are indeed on a side. They are on the side of greed. Of consumption. They refuse to seek out the Middle Way. So this must be done. But as I said, we are giving to them a gift that many would like to attain. We are doing them a favor. Please don't make me repeat myself."

"This isn't right."

"Say what you will. There is little you can do about it now."

"And why did you kill him? Rick Watson?"

"He was our tool. A necessary tool. But he is scum. He kills without _purpose_. That is the most unforgivable sin. We could no longer let him live."

"_Let_?"

"Yes. It is similar to the fact that we can no longer let you live either. I'm afraid our little conversation must come to an end. It is time for me to return to my task. I hope you'll forgive my sudden leave."

"You trying to be funny?"

"No. Let me explain to you what will happen. As you have probably already gathered, your foot has been taped down to the acceleration pedal. And obviously, your hands are taped to the steering wheel. I will turn the ignition on myself. Know that I haven't taken away your ability to steer. That will always be in your hands.

"But you will know what it is like to suffer. To be blind. To be helpless. You won't be able to stop, and you won't be able to know where you are going."

"Sounds awesome."

"I will grant you one phone call. You see; one of the benefits of this car is its hands free phone system. It's especially convenient. I've already plugged in your entire phonebook into the system. All you need to do is say the name and the car will call for you. Don't bother calling your Police Department. I can assure you, they will not be able to get here in time to save you."

"You're not going to get away with this. Any of this. This. The murders. The bomb. All of it."

"I do not necessarily disagree with you, detective. But I care little about 'getting away' with it. That's not what matters to me. What matters is that I complete what I am meant to do."

The man stepped back and itched at his burnt orange mask. The wool irritated his skin. He pulled his latex gloves on tighter before stepping back in and reaching over to the ignition, sighing as he watched the detective struggle to escape her bonds.

"I'm sorry," he said as the engine revved into action. "For your sake, I hope you do not waste that phone call."

He closed the door and watched the large Ford Explorer speed away from him, covering him in a light layer of its dust. He would discard his clothes later. Getting away, in the end, didn't matter. Getting way now, however, before the final hand had been dealt, was paramount.

Jane didn't let herself think as she steered the car. She let her gut think for her, praying that she subconsciously knew where she was and that she subconsciously knew where and how to turn. She didn't let herself think as she let the name fall of her lips. She let her gut think for her.

Her voice was shaky; "Maura Isles."

Maura's face popped up on the screen. She listened for the rings. They seemed to last forever. She felt a twist in her gut and turned the car again, desperately hoping that she was right. _I can't… not yet. I need to talk to her first. I need to… Please answer, Maura. Please._

As she made another turn her memory turned back in time.

"_Jane!"_

"_Maura?"_

"_You're awake!"_

"_What happened?"_

"_Well, you shot yourself." Maura's voice was blunt and to the point. "In the abdomen actually…"_

"_I _shot _myself?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Marino."_

"_Dead."_

"_Frankie?"_

"_Alive."_

_Jane's face visibly relaxed. She felt as though she could melt into the hospital bed; "Thank you, Maura. For saving him. I owe you big time."_

"_Why did you do it?" Maura said, suddenly. "Why, Jane? There were… other options."_

"_I guess… I guess I didn't have time to think. I mean, Frankie… Frankie needed to get to the hospital, and I wasn't sure what Marino had up his sleeve and…"_

"_And?"_

"_There was you."_

"_What?"_

"_There was you," repeated Jane. "I knew… I knew you were down with Frankie. I knew the whole thing probably scared you out of your mind. I just…" Jane sighed. "I wasn't thinking you know? I couldn't. I just knew you were down there, and I felt like I just had to do something."_

"_Jane…"_

"_How are you?"_

_Jane didn't receive an answer._

"_Maura?"_

_The doctor's voice was reduced to a whisper; "I don't want you doing something like that again. Not for me. I don't deserve it. I… I don't want you getting hurt because of me. I don't like that thought."_

"_You think I was just gonna let everything happen?" Jane grabbed Maura's hands, ignoring the piercing pain in her side. "Listen to me, Maura. You _do _deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone I know. Hell, you deserve better. I will _never _let you get hurt. You're my best friend. I don't leave friends behind. I won't leave _you _behind. Get it?"_

"_Just… promise me you won't do something stupid like that again."_

"_Maura…"_

"_Just please promise me."_

"_Okay. I promise." Jane let a smile break out on her face. "Ooh. Food. I'm hungry."_

_Maura giggled; "The food here is quite horrendous."_

"_Aw food is food. I've gotten used to hospital food anyway," she said with a wink. "Besides. Jello's always delicious." Jane lifted her arms up towards the just-out-of-reach bed table. "Gimme."_

_Maura laughed as she reached over and handed the cup of jello to Jane. Their fingers briefly touched. A shock ran through them both._

"_Uh, thanks," said Jane shyly. She looked down at the wobbling green mass. "Yes! Lime. Awesome."_

_She plunged her spoon into the gelatin, inching towards her mouth. Halfway through, she stopped and winced. Frowning she put the jello back into the cup._

"_Hm. Maybe I'm not hungry."_

"_Jane. Does it hurt?"_

"_No, I'm fine."_

"_Oh just tell me if it hurts, Jane."_

_The detective looked over at Maura from the corner of her eyes, a little frown twitching on the corner of her lips; "No."_

"_C'mon, Jane. Let me help you."_

"_Uh…" Jane looked up at Maura, only to find herself looking into the doctor's expectant eyes. "Crap. Fine. It hurts."_

"_There now that wasn't too painful, was it?" Maura grabbed the cup of jello and pushed the spoon towards Jane's face. "Now say 'ah.'"_

"_What? No! Maura!"_

"_You wanted the jello, didn't you?"_

"_Well yeah, I did… But Maura!" Jane whined._

"_Eat it, Jane. You really should get some sugar into your system."_

_Jane twisted her head to check if anyone was standing by the window. No one. She darted her head towards the spoon and quickly took in the spoonful of the green mass, before leaning back and pouting; "Alright. I ate it. Now what?"_

"_You should finish the rest." Maura lifted the spoon up again, refilled. "Here."_

"_Maura!" Jane whined, again. "You know what? Nothing hurts. I can eat it on my own."_

"_We both know that you can't."_

"_Crap," muttered Jane again, as her stomach growled. She darted her head forward again. "There," she said, smiling with her mouth full._

"_Jane! Don't do that!"_

"_What?"_

"_That's not… hygienic."_

"_You know what?" Jane said, teasingly ignoring Maura. "You should eat some too."_

"_Oh I don't think so. I don't really like jello."_

"_Have you ever had any?"_

"…_No."_

"_So then you don't _really _know, right?"_

"…_No."_

"_Try it."_

_Maura tentatively brought the jello to her lips. First beer, and now this._

"_Oh."_

"_Well?"_

"_It's good."_

"_Awesome. Now give me another bite."_

"_No."_

"_What?"_

_Jane shifted back in mock horror before collapsing into laughter. Maura's hand slid into hers, and she found herself holding her breath. Maura. Maura was… She was… Jane didn't have the words. But a comfort had washed over her. A silent, warm comfort. A beautiful comfort._

"_Maura?" Jane said, her voice more serious._

"_Yes?"_

"_I… I…" The words stumbled on her tongue. "You know what? Never mind. I'll tell you later._

I love you_, Jane had thought._

The last ring resounded through Jane's ears and she felt a pit settle in her stomach. Emptiness began to wash over her. Empty.

"Please leave a message at the sound of the tone."

Jane gripped the steering wheel tighter. She couldn't see her knuckles, but she knew they were white.

"Maura?" She said. Her voice was shaky. Rough. Husky. "Maura? I'm… I'm sorry I'm calling right now, but… But I… I need to tell you something before… Before this… I just need to tell you something… I need to get this out. God, Maura, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for messing things up. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"

* * *

><p><strong>How's that for morbid product placement?<strong>


	7. Exit Music For a Film

**I don't own anything. But take a listen to this song. You might wanna put it on repeat for this chapter.**

**Exit Music (For a Film) - Radiohead**

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><p><strong>"<em>It gets late early out there."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p><em>"Maura?" She said. Her voice was shaky. Rough. Husky. "Maura? I'm… I'm sorry I'm calling right now, but… But I… I need to tell you something before… Before this… I just need to tell you something… I need to get this out. God, Maura, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for messing things up. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"<em>

You replay the message over again in your head. You can't stop. You try but you can't. All you can hear is Jane's voice, and you imagine her crying out for you, pleading for you. You imagine her begging you to help her, her body twisted and mangled in that burnt metal husk. You saw the pictures. You saw the video of the body being pulled from the wreckage.

No one had thought to call you.

So instead CNN had informed you of your loss. And you had seen Jane's body.

_"Maura? I'm… I'm sorry I'm calling right now, but… But I… I need to tell you something before… Before this… I just need to tell you something… I need to get this out. God, Maura, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for messing things up. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love – "_

You fumble for your phone, your eyes glued to your screen. You couldn't believe your eyes. A mistake. They must've made a mistake. Of course, they made a mistake. You tear your shocked eyes away from the television. And then you see it. The words, "one missed call" flashing across the screen.

Your heart clenches as you read the caller ID: Jane Rizzoli.

Maybe they really did make a mistake. Maybe Jane had called to say that everything was in fact all right. But you know otherwise. Your intestines, the intestines you never trust, tell you otherwise. Because Jane wouldn't have called you. Even if she had wanted to. You had been the one to push her away. She needed you and you pushed her away.

A tear creeps down your cheek and you realize that none of it should have mattered. Because Jane is family too. And _he_, that brother they had only recently found, had been nothing more than a stranger. Jane had been there. Jane had risked her life.

"… _I need to get this out. God, Maura, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for messing things up. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love – "_

You slide down to the floor. You're numb. You can't feel.

Jane could be dead. Jane could die. Jane could never wake up.

And her last thoughts would have been of you. Of the idea that _she _had hurt you beyond belief. Of the idea that you hated her. She would have died with that perceived knowledge. The knowledge that was not true, that should have never been even taken as truth.

Guilt eats away at you, from the inside out. It gnaws at your bones. It sucks the marrow out dry from the shell. It chews through the walls of your veins and drinks up until it's plump with your blood. And when it finds its way to your heart, it runs its sharp teeth around the organ until it can find a weak spot in the wall. It plunges in and tears it all apart.

You don't realize until the last ring that Frankie is calling you, and when you pick up he tells you the name of the Hospital. He asks you to come and you can sense the weakness in his voice. But you're glad he called, and somehow you find the strength in your weak legs to pick yourself up off the ground.

All you know is that you're moving closer to where Jane is.

All you can hear is her voice replaying in her head.

"_I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"_

Your heart breaks again when you hear the words, and your fingers begin to shake as you grip the steering wheel. You don't notice the tears slipping down your face, dripping from your chin like a faucet that hadn't been tightened all the way through. You can see her again. Speaking into the phone, her voice husky and broken. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head, she had said. You can see her face as the car slams into the wall.

The guilt begins to eat away at you again. No, _he _never mattered. Jane did. Jane meant everything. Jane means everything. You grip the wheel tighter, your foot keeping a light balance on the acceleration pedal, and it's strange how the sun beats down on your face, through the windshield. The straightaway is empty and you close your eyes for a brief second, desperately trying to experience what Jane had.

Because Jane means everything.

You walk into the hospital and Frankie gives you a weak smile. All you can do is smile back and put a hand on his shoulder. Frost gives you a nod and you sit beside the two detectives, the trail of your tears leaving the skin of your cheek thirsty, overwhelmed by the salt.

You hug yourself, and it suddenly feels cold.

No one needs to say a word. No one needs to say anything.

It's in their faces.

It's in the air.

You're breathing it.

_"Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"_

You look to the other side of the room and you see him, his eyes trained on your face. Dark. Angry. His lips are thin, peeled back; you can see his arms trembling, vibrating with emotion. You look away, your arms still wrapped around your body as the cold skin wrapped around the back of your neck begins to cry too.

He walks towards you and you can feel his gaze grow closer and closer to your skin. You try to rub the goose bumps away, but they don't leave you. They don't go away. Like they should.

"Listen, lady," he says as his voice shakes. He's struggling to maintain control, but no one steps in to stop him. "You listen here good. You're only here because… because… because Jane would kick my ass good if I made you leave. But you listen. She went in alone… and I had to let her. I had to let my partner go in there alone, because I could _see it in her eyes_. I could _see it_. She… She wanted to go in alone. That sound _familiar_ to you? She _wanted _something to happen! And you know what? I don't gotta wonder why."

"Mahardy," someone says, quietly.

"No. Someone's got to say this. Someone has to, right? Right? You all know I'm right. All of you know I'm right. You," he says, and his gaze rips holes through you again. "You. You know it's right too. Yeah, she did something stupid. She did something shitty. You ever think that she had a damn good reason to do it?"

"I… asked her," you say, and you know it sounds ridiculous as it leaves your lips.

"You ever think," he replies, "that she had a damn good reason not to tell you why? She has… been _protecting _you this whole way through! Every goddamn step of the way! You think you were the only one hurt through the whole goddamn thing? What about her? What about Jane? What about my _partner_? You think she _enjoyed _killing him? You think she _enjoyed _keeping you out of the loop? I spent… two weeks with her, and even I know better… Look, plus this case, we were working two other homicides. I heard stories of how she was before everything went down. But I felt like I was hearing about a different person, because _this _Jane… _This _Jane was different. You wanna know what the first word that popped into my brain was? _Broken_. _Broken,_ Doctor Isles. _Broken_."

"Mahardy," someone says again, this time louder.

But you can't really hear the voice. All you can hear are Detective Mahardy's words. All you can hear are Jane's words, replaying in your head over and over and over and over again.

_"Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"_

"No!" he yells. "Someone's got to say it! Someone's got to tell her! Someone's got to tell her why! It's… She… She's got to know. She's got to know why…"

You watch as he begins to break down in front of you, as he begins to let tears whisper the words he's trying to say. You watch as his hand grasps for something to lean to.

"The doctor… The doctor said…"

"Mahardy." The voice is strong and you see Korsak put a hand on the detective's shoulder. "You ever have something like this happen to a partner of yours?"

All Mahardy can do is shake his head.

"I have, kid. Once on the beat. And this… This has gotta be my third time with Jane with Jane. You listen to me, kiddo. I know this is tough, but Jane's gonna make it through. She always does. She's a damn fighter, she is."

"What if…" He looks at you. "What if she doesn't have a reason to this time?"

You feel your chest begin to tighten as you watch Korsak pull away. You feel your chest begin to tighten as you realize that Korsak doesn't have an answer. You watch him recede where he had been standing before. Mahardy has fallen into a silence but that damage has already been done.

You look down at your hands.

_"Maura?" She said. Her voice was shaky. Rough. Husky. "Maura? I'm… I'm sorry I'm calling right now, but… But I… I need to tell you something before… Before this… I just need to tell you something… I need to get this out. God, Maura, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for messing things up. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for being all screwed up in the head." Jane's voice broke. "Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"_

The interrupting crash had been loud, metal screeching as the front of the car crumpled, folding into itself, shards of glass screaming as they clawed across the paint. But the deafening silence that followed only a second later had been louder, more jarring to your ears.

With the silence, your heart had stopped. You could feel it stop beating. You could feel the blood stopping in its track, ceasing its circulation. It was as if the beating of your heart had been dependent on her words, on her breathing, on her beating heart.

The doctor makes his way into the waiting room.

No one can read the expression laden across his face. _You _can't read the expression laden across his face. You run through everything he could say, everything that could have happened during surgery.

Broken ribs… collapsed lung… Internal bleeding… Concussion… Lost her twice…

You can't breathe. You think of all the things you could have said.

And there's only one thought in your mind.

You should've stopped her. You should've stopped her from leaving. You should've told her it was all going to be all right. You should've told her that none of it mattered. You should've told her that all you wanted was to be beside her again. You should've told her you wanted her back.

You should've stopped her from leaving.

_"Goodbye, Maura. I love you, okay? I love –"_

I love you too, you whisper. I love you, too.


	8. Take It To The Limit

**I don't own anything.**

**Take It To The Limit - The Eagles**

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><p><strong><em>"I take a two hour nap, from one o'clock to four."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p>The words had been the first good ones she had heard all day:<p>

"…_But she's stable now. We managed to patch everything up, and I do not predict any debilitating disabilities. She is, however, in a coma. Don't let that worry you, though. The prognosis is good. I expect her to wake in a couple of days. At the latest."_

Maura had watched from the corner of the room; she watched as they gathered around the peaceful Jane. She found that standing there like that was the easiest way to remain unnoticed. To remain undetected. She doubted that any of them knew that she hadn't left since she arrived in the first place.

She wasn't shivering anymore. She didn't feel so cold. So numb.

Jane looked so… at peace.

The dark bags beneath her eyes had already faded away. The creases across her face had been smoothed. Her breathing was even. Robust. Healthy. There was almost, even, a small crookedness to her mouth, the very corner curling ever so slightly up towards her eyes.

The Styrofoam cup was pushed in her direction.

"You've been here for a while."

"Yes."

"You care about her, don't you?"

"Yes… I do."

"Listen. Before… I was out of hand."

"This is an emotional time."

"Still. S'no excuse. I usually don't get so… I don't know. But, I was outta hand. Won't happen again." Mahardy took a sip from his own cup, watching Jane from afar too. "You know, it really has only been two weeks… that I've been working with her, I mean. Seems a lot longer. We got real close real quick."

A pang spread through Maura's chest.

"Yes… Partners tend to get close."

"Yeah, not always this quick, though. Rizzoli has a way of drawing people in. Well, people like me, anyway. People who don't got anywhere else to go anymore. We all get drawn in, don't we?"

"Yes. We do."

"What's your story?"

"_My _story?"

"Yeah. What's it about you that has Jane drawing you in like this?"

"It's complicated. There's a lot to tell."

"If nobody told the complicated stories, no stories would ever get told."

"That's very astute, detective."

"So you gonna tell me, or what?"

"…No. I'm afraid I can't."

"Alright. That's fine by me. You know, you're good people, doc. I know you are. I can see it in you. Shouldn't have gone off on you like that. I just… Couldn't help it. Jane'll whoop my ass good later, though. It'll all work out in the end."

"It's okay, detective. What you said… It was very true."

"No, it wasn't. Not entirely, anyway. I know you care about her, doc. I can see it. We all can."

"Except for her."

"Not your fault, doc. S'all because of Jane being so hardheaded and all. You know that." He watched as Maura nodded absentmindedly. "Just… don't be so hard on yourself. Most of the crap that comes outta my mouth is a bunch of horseshit anyway. No use listening to me. I'll, uh, leave you alone now."

But Maura was already gone. Lost in her thoughts.

_No, _she thought. _He was right. Everything he said. That was the truth. He was right about me… about Jane. _Maura stared down at the thick dark liquid that pooled in the cup. The smell made her nauseous.

"_She went in alone… and I had to let her. I had to let my partner go in there alone, because I could see it in her eyes. I could see it. She… She wanted to go in alone. That sound familiar to you? She wanted something to happen! And you know what? I don't gotta wonder why."_

Maura let herself stare at the motionless Jane Rizzoli. It had been her. She had caused this. She imagined it all. Jane in an orange jumpsuit. Alone. In an empty, barren cell. Alone with the nightmares.

How long ago had it been?

When she had first walked in?

"_Jane?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Do I look like a badass?"_

_Maura could almost sense the quiet smirk spreading across Jane's voice._

_The voice had softened. It had relaxed; "Yeah, Maura. You do."_

_And Maura had smiled and nodded, content that she finally she was a player on the roster. Not some behind-the-scenes employee. No, a player. A field player in the most important game of all: protecting Jane Rizzoli. The gun heavy in her hands, she let the muscles wrap around her chest embrace the near suffocating feeling beginning to engulf her._

_But it wasn't long before she heard the first strangled scream._

_She had set the gun down as gently as she could._

_She had run to the bedroom._

_She had found Jane, eyes clenched tight, fists tightening on the sheets._

_Rigid._

_The second strangled scream left the detective's lips, and it took everything within the doctor's very being to not leap forward and embrace her._

_Instead she slowly approached._

_Slowly she set herself beside Jane, creating a cavity in the mattress._

_Slowly she felt Jane's breathing calm._

_Slowly she felt Jane pull her in._

_Slowly she let it all happen._

_Jane opened her eyes, and her voice was forced, strained; "I-I'm sorry."_

"_It's okay, Jane. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare."_

"_I'm sorry… I'm sorry I'm not good enough…"_

"_Don't say that."_

_Jane buried her face into Maura's side, and her shaky, pained voice – her shaky, pained words – pierced holes through the doctor's skin; "Please don't leave me…"_

"_I won't leave. I promise."_

"_I'm sorry I'm so broken…"_

She replayed the words over in her head again. The whole thing seemed to be some sort of twisted motif in her life. A mangled record caught on repeat, doomed to play the same words, the same sound bite, over and over again.

"_But I felt like I was hearing about a different person, because this Jane… This Jane was different. You wanna know what the first word that popped into my brain was? Broken. Broken, Doctor Isles. Broken."_

A promise. She had made a promise. No, she had made more than one, single promise. She had made more. A promise to Jane, that she would never leave her. That she would never leave her alone and never leave her with the nightmares. And then, at that very moment, she had made a promise to herself. _I will never let her feel like this again. Broken._

She had broken it all.

The promises.

Jane.

_"You ever think," he replies, "that she had a damn good reason not to tell you why? She has… been protecting you this whole way through! Every goddamn step of the way! You think you were the only one hurt through the whole goddamn thing? What about her? What about Jane? What about my partner? You think she enjoyed killing him? You think she enjoyed keeping you out of the loop?"_

Maura traced the outline of Jane's face with her eyes, drinking in every inch of skin, studying it as if every detail was some sort of integral component of a map.

_I broke her_, she thought. _She needed me, and I left. Not once did I… And when she came back… I should have made her stay. I should have said something… Anything…_

Did Jane sleep? Who was there when the nightmares began to noce again wreak havoc? Who was there whenever Hoyt seemed to drift back into her dreams, since his name once again reached the headlines?

It hadn't been Maura.

It should've been Maura.

But it hadn't.

"I watched the football game," she said, inaudibly to Jane. "I watched that Navy-Army game you were talking about all that year before they took you away. I recorded it, but I don't understand a thing. I didn't even try to understand, Jane. I've been waiting for you to tell me…"

She half expected Jane to jolt up and answer, an adorable, irritated twinge to her voice.

"Did you know football was first played with animal bladders? The origins of the ball is actually quite similar to that of soccer… Both sports, I believe, were played with inflatable bladders. Leathers soon replaced the bladders… It's quite fascinating. I watched a documentary when you were gone… I've missed you, Jane."

She half expected, again, Jane to jolt up and reciprocate.

But she didn't.

And the thought immediately began to chip away at her, to chip away at her resolve like a sharp rock against the concrete curbs.

"_I love you, okay? I love –"_

Maura tightened her grip on the Styrofoam cup, little dents beginning to appear on the surface. She was cold again. The hospital made her cold. Jane's absence made her cold. All of it made her cold. There was no helping it.

Those words… Those words had been the last that left Jane's mouth. Those were the words Jane had chosen. Over every other phrase, Jane had chosen this one. Jane had chosen to call her.

_Jane wasted her call_, thought Maura bitterly. _She should've called someone of more worth to her. Someone worth a goodbye. Someone worth her love._

Frankie let out a quiet yell, and Maura snapped her head around. The rest of it happened quickly.

Jane began to claw at the tube stuffed down her throat.

A nurse began to plug away at the beeping machines.

A doctor began to stand before Jane, checking all the detective's vitals.

Maura ran through the process in her head. She ran through what she would have done. What she would've wrote on that nice little clipboard. She ran through what she would've given Jane. She ran through how she would take care of Jane. Help her heal.

"Hey there. My name is Doctor Palmer. Do you know where you are?"

Jane nodded, the oxygen mask still plastered over her nose and mouth.

Maura felt her stomach clench,

"Do you know your name?" The doctor turned around at the nervous gathering. "Don't worry, it's just a precaution. We have to ask. She has been, after all, in a coma for quite some time."

Jane nodded, answering the doctor's question.

"Jane Rizzoli," she said weakly, after pulling the mask over her face for a brief second.

"Obviously, this is a good sign," sighed the doctor. "I've just got a few more preliminary questions to ask. Alright Jane, can you tell me who some of these people are?"

Again, Jane nodded; "That there's… Ma… and Pop… Over there's Frankie…"

Angela began to cry, relief clearly filling her every pore. Her baby remembered her. Her baby knew her. Her baby was alive, and everything was going to be okay.

"That's good for now." The doctor took note of it on his clipboard. "Do you remember the crash, detective?"

Jane nodded before frowning; "Detective?" she said quietly, too softly for anyone to hear.

Maura let herself glide closer to Jane, standing tentatively beside Korsak near the foot of the bed. She had heard. Rather, she ahd read Jane's lips. But nevertheless, she knew. She knew what Jane had said. What she had murmured. The question.

"How much do you remember about it?"

"All of it… Most of it."

Jane didn't look down at Maura. Jane didn't turn her head.

Maura found herself gripping one of the metal posts. It didn't feel right. None of this felt right. Something was wrong. Something wasn't right.

"Do you remember where the crash took place?"

Jane nodded again; "Iraq," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The room fell silent, staring back at her in absolute shock. Maura stared. _Iraq? Had Jane been to Iraq? The crash wasn't in Iraq._ _Was there… Iraq? Why did… Iraq isn't related. How can… How can _Iraq _be related? How? Won't don't I know? What haven't you told me, Jane… Oh, Jane… Please remember._

Jane glared back at the silent eyes, irritation bleeding through her pupils, eventually seeping in to her voice, contaminating every syllable that left her raw and tender throat.

"Iraq," she said again. "Ramadi."


	9. Never Forget

**I don't own anything.**

**Keep this song on loop. It takes away from the story if it isn't playing. I've also attached a Military Terms and Radio Etiquette 101 for anyone who needs it. It's along USMC regulations. I'm not an expert, so if I make a mistake, feel free to inform me.**

**Never Forget - Martine O'Donnell & Michael Salvatori**

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><p><strong><em>"This is like deja vu all over again."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

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><p><strong>Military Terms and Radio Etiquette 101<strong>

**Warpig - Company Callsign**

**Joker - Company Callsign**

**COC - Chain of Command (refers to the entire company chain of command)**

**IED - Improvised Explosive Device (I'm sure everyone knows this one but just in case)**

**PFC - Private First Class. Enlisted rate. Ranks higher than Private and lower than Lance Corporal.**

**QRF - Quick Reaction Force. Kind of like a SWAT team. The on-call platoon for emergencies.**

**Hajji - In proper lingo, refers to all muslims who have made the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca. In Iraq it was used to identify all Iraqis, simply because Hajji or Hajj has less syllables than Iraqi and so is easier and quicker to say on the radio.**

**Hospital Point - The biggest base near Ramadi. Not a Combat Outpost, so they had more supplies.**

**Warpig Four-Two - As already mentioned, the first word is the company call sign. The first number (in this case, four) is the platoon designator. The third number is the squad designator. So fourth platoon's second squad would be Four-Two on the radio.**

**Warpig Four-Actual - Four-Actual refers to fourth platoon's CO (the platoon commander. Usually a second or first lieutenant).**

**Warpig Six-Actual - Warpig Six is the HQ designator. Actual is the CO designator. So Six-Actual is the Company CO's radio callsign.**

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><p>"<em>Warpig COC, this is Four-Two. Be advised, that explosion was an IED. We are taking heavy RPG and small-arms fire on Route Michigan. Near Farouq. Break. Lance Corporal Jones, gunshot wound to the neck. Priority medevac. Lance Corporal Murphy, severed legs. Priority medevac. PFC Lee, shrapnel to the chest. Priority medevac. Corporal Meyers, gunshot wound to the leg. Priority medevac. Over."<em>

_The voice was quick. Loud. Desperate. Controlled._

_The radio buzzed back on within the second._

"_Four-Two, this is Six-Actual. We're sending the medevacs your way. QRF's already mounting. Joker Three's nearby on a patrol. They'll aid you. Where the hell is Four-Actual? Over."_

_The voice came back on. Urgent. Strong. Calm._

"_Six-Actual, Second Lieutenant Hayes has been knocked out by the initial blast. We are unable to determine his condition, sir. The IED blew the first truck to pieces. Over."_

"_Four-Two, stay put. Reinforcements are coming. Over."_

"_Roger, Six-Actual. Over."_

_The bullets flew over her head; she could see the tracer rounds. She could hear the vibrating buzz. The bullets were like bees, wandering aimlessly over the fine, fine grains of sand. Everything moved slowly. Slowly like they were suspended in honey. She could hear her heart beat noisily in her chest._

_Her face was hot._

_Everything was hot._

_The trucks were smoldering._

_Sizzling._

_Popping._

_Crackling._

_Like Rice Krispies._

_Except the trucks were on fire, and the crushed debris smelt of burnt flesh. And rubber. Burning rubber. She hated that smell._

"_What the hell are you doing? Get over here, kid! Son of a bitch!"_

_There it was. That same voice talking into the radio. She felt the voice pull her in, dragging her across the fragmented asphalt. The sand flew into her throat, and she coughed. She hated sand, too._

"_What the hell's wrong with you? Get behind the cover, kid."_

_She found herself absentmindedly nodding._

_Another spray of AK-47 fire flew over their heads._

_Pop. Pop. Pop. Po-po-po-pop. Pop. Pop._

_They either weren't trying to aim or didn't know how. But none of it mattered. The unforgiving spray mimicked the loose froth that flew from waves crashing down on beaches. Never ending. Inescapable, almost. The next wave crashed down as a large blast echoed in her ears, another blast following in quick succession._

_RPG. Rocket Propelled Grenade._

_There were always two explosions. The first was the grenade leaving the barrel. The second was the grenade hitting its target. One blast meant the thing was a dud. If there was only one blast, that was a good thing. If it hit the ground at a low enough angle, it'd skid off like a bounced Frisbee. If it arched up in the air, there'd be no bounce. Run._

_They figured that out their first run through Ramadi._

_They had their thirty-first run their second month into the deployment. That's when she stopped counting._

_She hadn't realized she had started firing back._

_That she had clicked her M-16 out of safety and into full automatic._

_She saw a hajji fall._

_She could've imagined the bullet flying out of the barrel of her gun, flying over the road, and landing solidly in his chest. But she didn't. She never did. She never could._

_The blast was still rippling in her head._

_Slow motion._

_Adrenaline, right?_

_She released the trigger, her left hand grasping the vertical grip tighter, her eye poised behind the ACOG. She had her goggles flipped up. She couldn't see down the sights with her goggles down. Screw it all to hell. Her finger pressed down on the trigger again._

_The blast was _still _rippling through her._

_The voice sputtered on again, plastering itself to the squad PRR; "Four-Three? This is Four-Two. What's your sit-rep?"_

"_No causalities here. Just a little banged up."_

"_Relay the question over to Four-Four. I can't get a bead on 'em."_

"_Roger that, Gunny."_

_She heard the voice go quiet again, setting the PRR down in favor for a weapon. The M-16 was speaking now. No; the M-16 was yelling. Screaming. Almost as loud as the DI's did back at Parris Island. But no, not as loud._

_Her own weapon added to the conversation. Providing depth. Asking questions. The voice's weapon answered. Steady._

_Where is she?_

_Kid…_

_How is she?_

_I don't know._

_What happened?_

_I'm sorry, kid._

_Why isn't the lieutenant with us?_

_The blast. Got caught in the blast._

_Why us, Gunny? Why us?_

_I don't know… I don't know._

_Another blast echoed through the air, screaming as it interrupted their conversation, ripping through the desert air. The second blast resounded loudly beside them. Near the third truck. Four-Three's truck. The PRR spit white noise out into the air as the voice picked it up again. _

"_Four-Three? You there? What's going on?"_

"_We took a casualty, Gunny. It doesn't look good. Doc is taking a look."_

"_Just get him to hold on."_

_The PRR stopped spitting and laid itself back on the ground._

_Her weapon stopped speaking. The blast stopped rippling. The blast was stopped short. Those small rippling waves were silenced. Killed. Cut short. Something else began to move through her, but not in ripples. Not in tiny little waves._

_It moved like a flood. Swallowing. Engulfing. Pulling her in._

_Nothing moved slow anymore._

_The bullets weren't buzzing around the tracers; they were screaming. Her head was screaming._

_She ripped her eyes away and caught sight of the lieutenant. Their lieutenant. The platoon's lieutenant._

"_Someone get in front of the lieutenant!" she yelled. The words surprised her. Her voice surprised her. Where the hell was her fire team? Why weren't they responding? "The lieutenant! Someone get in front of him!"_

"_Hey, kid!"_

_The voice again._

_She didn't stop._

"_Someone get the lieutenant!" she yelled again._

"_Kid!"_

_She ran out in front of the cover, shoving a foot in the ground to make a quick left face. The spray of bullets exploded behind her, vigorously pelting the running shadow. It was like a damn scene out of some damn movie._

_The lieutenant's eyes were closed, but she moved her body out in front of it anyway. She formed a wall with her flesh and Kevlar, responding to the AK-47s with her own M-16._

_Bullets flew around her again._

_Their aim sucked._

"_Get back here!" yelled the voice again. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"_

_Another sound entered the scene. A new sound. A new sound different from the bullets and the RPGs and the urgent yelling over the PRR and radio. The sound of the tan desert boots hitting the sticky asphalt. They knelt down and began to silence the AK-47s. How long hat it been? Ten minutes? Eight minutes? No: four. Three, maybe._

_She grabbed the limp lieutenant and threw him over her shoulders, the way they taught her to do in boot camp._

_She ran back towards the smoldering trucks. Cover._

_She set him down near the voice and ran out again._

_She didn't know why. She couldn't remember why._

_But she felt something crash against her chest. But it didn't hurt. Because pain is relative._

_Someone yelled; "Doc up! Doc up!"_

_And then the voice again, into that sputtering radio; "Warpig COC, this is Four-Two! Where are the goddamn medevacs? Lance Corporal Rizzoli! RPG to the chest! Priority medevac!"_

The fluorescent lights were a poor choice. They made for bad wake-ups. They ought to have thought of that when installing them into hospital ceilings. The lights made everything look sickly. Green. The rest of the room was empty. No people. Ma had put in some excuse about needing to be somewhere and went away with Pop. Frankie talked about needing to be back on a case. Her case. What case?

That woman wasn't there either. The one with the soft eyes.

She felt a small twinge in her chest.

Jane looked down at her hands and stared at the strange scars. Those were new.

"You look like hell, kid."

Jane whipped her head around, shifting as she attempted to lift herself up from the bed. A hand stopped her.

"At ease, Rizzoli. Don't need to get so uppity with me."

The detective gave the woman in front of her a look over; "You look older, Gunny."

"Ha. You get a chance to look in the mirror lately?"

"No."

"Oh hell. You look the same as you did way back when. Haven't changed a bit, kid."

"Gunny?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell's going on?"

Her voice was quiet. Tentative. She was a nineteen year old kid again. A kid thrown into the kind of hell hole that was Ramadi. Confused.

"I can't give you that answer, Rizzoli."

"And why not? They're calling me some kind of detective, now. Why aren't I still with the Corps?"

"So you don't remember that part, huh?"

"I don't get it."

"We'll save that part for later. Doc told me to go easy on you. They say your head's a little messed up right now. They don't want to stress you out."

"You. Not telling me. Stressful."

"Hell, kid. Just take it easy for once."

"So… What's new? What's happened since I…?"

"Well we got a new President. A democrat. Get this; he's black."

"No kidding. That's cool."

"Sure is. Not that he's doing awful well. But we'll see what happens."

"What else?"

"We're done in Iraq. We pulled out about a year ago… But…"

"But?"

"Doesn't look like we're pulling out of Afghanistan until 2024. Most of the troops'll be out by 2014 but… They wanna keep our guys in there. But here's some good news…"

"More good news?" muttered Jane, bitterness seeping through her voice.

"Oh hell yeah. They got Bin Laden. He was in Pakistan. _Pakistan_."

"Shit."

"And the Sox snagged a World Series title. Thought you might like to know that too."

"No kidding… Looks like I missed a lot."

"You didn't miss any of it, kid. You just don't remember right now, is all. You'll get there. The memories'll come."

"Sounds like fun."

Jane's eyes fell. She could still feel the M-16 in her hands. She could still hear the bullets flying around her ears. She could still see the sparks coming off of the smoldering Humvees.

"You remember most of it, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, kid."

"My team… They didn't back me because… They were dead, weren't they?"

"Lee took shrapnel to the chest during the blast. He died on the way to Germany. Everyone else… They caught the IED head on. So did the lieutenant."

_The lieutenant's eyes were closed, but she moved her body out in front of it anyway. She formed a wall with her flesh and Kevlar, responding to the AK-47s with her own M-16._

"I remember that part."

"Course you do. You were damn stupid that day."

Jane pressed her head hard against the pillow. Her blood pressure began to increase every so slightly as she lightly gripped the sheets.

"I don't remember why."

"I know you don't."

"Why are you here, Gunny?"

"One of your new buddies called me. A Marine who chewed dirt in Kuwait about the same time I did. Said you talked about me once or twice. He said he was your old partner."

"Don't remember him. I'd remember a Marine wouldn't I?"

"S'okay, kid. You're just a little banged up is all. Don't worry about it."

"This feels wrong. Something feels wrong."

"You and your damned gut."

The Gunny's face twisted in pain as she saw her team leader's face light up. She knew why it was lighting up. She knew why, and she didn't like it. She already knew the question, and she already knew the answer. They had already run through this scenario once before. The memory had never left her head.

She'd have to relive it now.

"Hey, uh, did Kate say when she was dropping by?"

"No, kid… Kate… Murphy didn't say."

"Is she gonna drop by?"

"Kid… You don't… Remember that part, do you?"

"What part?"

_Her weapon stopped speaking. The blast stopped rippling. The blast was stopped short. Those small rippling waves were silenced. Killed. Cut short. Something else began to move through her, but not in ripples. Not in tiny little waves._

_It moved like a flood. Swallowing. Engulfing. Pulling her in._

_Nothing moved slow anymore._

_The bullets weren't buzzing around the tracers; they were screaming. Her head was screaming._

_The eyes were wide open. Glazed over. Jane could only see the woman's torso. A fleshy chunk of Humvee sprawled across her legs, hiding everything that lay below the halfway point of her thighs. Blood pooled around the metal._

_The skin around the glazed eyes were pale. The blood had already drained out._

_Jane's trembling fingers left the trigger of her M-16 and lifted to the bloodied woman's neck. She pulled off her gloves, pressing her two fingers hard against a vein. She begged her fingers to move that small millimeter, to pulsate with somebody else's skin. But the skin was stone cold. Unmoving._

_The insistent Iraqi sands had settled on the ring, but the sun managed to catch a glimpse and it winked in the light, breathing as it lay on the bloodied hand._

_She ripped her eyes away and caught sight of the lieutenant. Their lieutenant. The platoon's lieutenant._

"_Someone get in front of the lieutenant!" she yelled. The words surprised her. Her voice surprised her. Where the hell was her fire team? Why weren't they responding? "The lieutenant! Someone get in front of him!"_

_Bullets flew around her again._

_Their aim sucked._

_She ran out, the world moving fast around her again, her mind numb._

"_Get back here!" yelled the Gunny again. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"_

_Another sound entered the scene. A new sound. A new sound different from the bullets and the RPGs and the urgent yelling over the PRR and radio. The sound of the tan desert boots hitting the sticky asphalt. They knelt down and began to silence the AK-47s. How long hat it been? Ten minutes? Eight minutes? No: four. Three, maybe._

_She grabbed the limp lieutenant and threw him over her shoulders, the way they taught her to do in boot camp._

_Lance Corporal Jane Rizzoli ran back towards the smoldering trucks. Cover. She set her lieutenant down near the Gunny._

_She ran out again._

_She knew why. She remembered why. She let out a yell as she barreled toward the hajji. Screaming._

_She felt something crash against her chest. But it didn't hurt. Because pain is relative. And this pain. This pain was nothing._

_Someone yelled; "Doc up! Doc up!"_

Jane's blood pressure spiked.

The machines began to relentlessly start their blinks and beeps.

Nurses piled in two at a time.

The Gunny watched. Silent. Helpless. She couldn't help her Marine. Her Marine – her Lance Corporal – pressed her cheek hard against the pillow as the tears began to spill out. She struggled as the nurses held her down, choking on the pain as they began to sedate her.

"She said yes, Gunny… she said yes… We were gonna… We… I miss her… I miss her so much…"

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><p><strong>Gonna take this time here to put in my usual two-cents on the military. All the places mentioned in this story are real. The battles in Ramadi took place around the same time the surges into Fallujah did, so they were overlooked to a certain extent. Warpig, as far as I know, was not a callsign of any company stationed near Ramadi. Joker, however, was an infantry company that was stationed there. They're real.<strong>

**After the Marines took over the Army outpost, they saw an increased level and intensity of attacks. They saw casualties comparative to that of Vietnam. I tried to make this story as accurate as possible.**

**So this is one of my little ways to make sure those Marines who were stationed there get remembered.**


	10. All These Things That I've Done

**I don't own anything.**

**All These Things That I've Done - The Killers**

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><p><strong><em>"Yeah but we're making great time!"<em>**

**_Yogi Berra, in reply to 'Hey Yogi, I think we're lost.'_**

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><p>Maura stood outside the door, the manila folder in her hand trembling ever so slightly. She could see Jane sitting and watching a football game and straining her eyes to catch the grainy details.<p>

The manila folder was as light as paper. That was all it carried.

And yet it felt heavier than gallons of water.

Her other hand hovered over the doorknob.

She had volunteered for this. She had volunteered.

"_The doc said no one should bring up anything stressful! He said we should go light on all the stuff she doesn't remember." Frost's voice was adamant. "That's what he said."_

"_I _get _that," said Mahardy, just as irritated. "But what're we gonna do? That undercover cop… uh, Detective Miller… He was the only one who knew anything about what was going on. He's dead, and I'm guessing he told Jane. We got some crazy home-grown terrorist organization running around in our own backyard. And what was that other thing? Oh right. Yeah. They got some bomb on the streets. So what else are we supposed to do?"_

"_I don't know!"_

"_We ask Jane. We show a couple pictures. That's all I say we do. She would've wanted us to do this. You know Jane would kick our asses if we didn't do _everything _possible to put this case down."_

"_So then who's supposed to ask? It doesn't help us if she gets all stressed and frustrated. It could mess her up more."_

"_Obviously, it has to be the right person."_

"_We could get the Gunny to do it," piped in Korsak. It had been the first suggestion he had given his team. "A Marine to a Marine. You know. Besides. She knows Jane from before. She remembers her."_

"_I don't know. Asking her doesn't sit right with me," muttered Frost. "Whatever happened in Iraq was shitty enough for Jane to try and forget everything that happened after. The Gunny might just be a reminder of that." Frost looked towards his new partner. "Hey what about you, man?"_

"_Me?" Frankie looked pulled at the badge now sitting on his hip. "You really think that's a good idea? We didn't really get close until _after _she came back from the war. Before that… I was just her snot nose kid brother. She's still gonna look at me that way."_

"_Then who?"_

"_Me. I'll do it."_

_Everyone looked up in surprise at the new voice entering the bullpen. It had been a while since they had last seen her enter that room. A long while._

"_You sure about this, doc?" asked Frost, concern laden across his expression. "You don't have to, you know. It's okay. We can figure out a away."_

"_No, I want to do this. And I'm the ideal option. I think."_

"_She is," agreed Korsak. He watched Mahardy carefully. "I'm on board with that plan."_

_Mahardy nodded along with his sergeant; "Sounds like a plan." Quickly, he plunged his hand into his desk drawer and pulled out an unsealed manila envelope. "The pictures are inside here. They're of Detective Miller. We've got some other shots of known Theravada accomplices. We're just gonna see if we can jog her memory a bit here. That good with you?"_

"_I can do it."_

She turned the knob and cringed when the hinges creaked. Jane shot her head over to size up her newcomer, turning off the TV in the process.

"You don't have to do that," Maura whispered.

"S'okay. We were losing anyway." Jane watched as Maura sat in the chair beside the bed. "You were there when I woke up."

"Yes, I was."

"I don't know you." Jane's voice was tinged with frustration. "I should, shouldn't I? I should be remembering you?"

"We were close… once."

"Once?"

"It's complicated."

"Are we friends?"

Maura looked down, considering all the different combinations of words that could leave her mouth; "Yes."

"Oh," Jane said. Disappointment began to tug at her. "What's your name?"

"Maura Isles. We work together."

"You're a Marine?" Jane started, at first in surprise. She caught herself just as quickly as the words left her. "Oh wait. I'm a detective now, right. A cop. Fancy that."

"I thought you always wanted to be a cop."

"Huh. I guess that's true. I think I've always wanted to be a Marine first. Always thought about re-enlisting as an MP."

"Military Police…"

"Yeah." Jane's voice drifted momentarily. "They don't get deployed as often, and I was gonna…"

"We don't have to talk about it," interrupted Maura, softly. "It's okay."

_"Hey, uh, did Kate say when she was dropping by?"_

_"No, kid… Kate… Murphy didn't say."_

_"Is she gonna drop by?"_

_"Kid… You don't… Remember that part, do you?"_

_"What part?"_

_Maura couldn't help but overhear the whole conversation. She had left, briefly she thought, to grab some water. The information flashing across the monitors told her that Jane would soon be waking. And she had made a habit of only being around when Jane was asleep. The moment she woke, she left._

_It was better that way, wasn't it?_

_But there she was. Standing in front of the door. Listening Jane beg her Gunny for answers._

She sounds so lost_, she thought. _She sounds lost.

_Who's Kate Murphy?_

_She stood there and watched, through the glass panes, as Jane's eyes began to relive the memory, as Jane began to realize just what had happened that tragic day in Ramadi, Iraq. She watched as the pain ripped through Jane Rizzoli's face. _Lance Corporal _Jane Rizzoli's face. Not Detective Jane Rizzoli. Lance Corporal._

_The pain was still there, agonizingly apparent, across all Jane's features._

_Jane's blood pressure spiked._

_The machines began to relentlessly start their blinks and beeps._

_Nurses piled in two at a time._

_The Gunny watched. Silent. Helpless. She couldn't help her Marine. Her Marine – her Lance Corporal – pressed her cheek hard against the pillow as the tears began to spill out. She struggled as the nurses held her down, choking on the pain as they began to sedate her._

_Maura found herself trembling. Trembling with Jane. Trembling with every memory she had ever had with Jane. The good ones. The nights they had spent together. The cases they had solved together. Those days they laughed together. The movies they watched, the places they went…_

_"She said yes, Gunny… she said yes… We were gonna… We… I miss her… I miss her so much…"_

_Maura's heart clenched again. A selfish part of her always believed that she, and only she, could be the first love in Jane's life. The first one Jane would ever choose to run to. And maybe that might've been true of the new Jane that returned from Iraq and walked into the civilian world as a Massachusetts cop._

_But this Jane… This was the old Jane. The Jane Maura never knew. The Jane that had a different life that Maura was never a part of._

_A Jane that had suffered. A Jane that had been happy. A Jane that had loved._

_"She said yes, Gunny… she said yes… We were gonna… We… I miss her… I miss her so much…"_

"I actually," Maura whispered, "have some questions to ask you… About work."

"Shoot."

Jane found herself smiling. She hadn't felt this comfortable in ages. She didn't care that she didn't feel like the cop this woman, this beautiful woman, was looking for. She was content enough that the woman was talking to her to begin with. _She's of kind of like her_, Jane thought, bitterly.

Maura pulled the photos out of the envelope and gently laid it out for Jane; "Do you know who this is?"

Jane shook her head; "No… Who is he?"

"This is Detective Miller. He was working undercover with a home-grown terrorist organization. You met with him the day before… The day before…"

Maura couldn't bring herself to say it.

"I don't know that name… I'm sorry."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah; I am. You got any more for me?"

"Yes… These," she started, pulling out more photographs, "are the people he was working undercover with."

"They don't look familiar either." Jane's voice grew more frustrated, and the machines began to beep again. "I don't remember any of this! I don't remember! How can I not remember?"

"Jane! Jane, it's okay, please! Calm down, it's okay!"

"No! This… This is important, isn't it? Otherwise you wouldn't be asking me! Something bad's gonna happen if I don't remember, right?"

The machines' beeps began following each other at shorter intervals. They sped up as the frustration dug deeper and deeper into Jane's features.

"Jane, please!"

She grabbed the woman by the hands and began to run her thumb around the skin in circles. The machines began to quiet. Jane began to calm. She looked up at Maura, the pictures already forgotten. Jane's head sunk into her pillow.

"I'm sorry I don't remember," she said, into the fabric. "I'm useless."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything, Jane. And you're not useless. You have never been useless." Maura let a smile grace her features. "You might not remember this, but you're one of the more useful ones."

Jane's face was still pressed into the pillow; "I am?"

"Yes, Jane, you are." Maura moved to slide the photos back into the envelope. "I'm sorry I came by. This wasn't a good idea. It was… It was good to see you, Jane."

Jane's head shot off the pillow and her hand reached out equally as fast to catch the leaving Maura.

She looked up at the doctor, fear shivering in her eyes; "Do you mind… staying?"

_Korsak had taken steps to ensure that Maura was informed every step of the way. That's the way Jane would've wanted it. So that meant when the Gunny came into town, Maura would be there too._

_The three of them sat in the hospital cafeteria._

"_Bothwell," she said, extending out a hand._

_Korsak shook. Maura next._

"_Good to see you could come up, Gunny."_

"_Anything for Rizzoli."_

"_You were in Kuwait, right?"_

"_Oh yeah. Motor T. Same billet I served in Iraq."_

"_That's one hell of an MOS. Almost as bad as Infantry."_

"_We _are_ seeing a lot of casualties these days."_

"_Hard to call you a pog."_

"_You better not," laughed Bothwell._

_Maura smiled weakly. She let the two Marines have their time._

"_Frankly," said Bothwell, sobering up. "I'm surprised she didn't forget more. That she didn't go farther back past the deployment. Ramadi was hell."_

"_I heard."_

"_We were there in April, too, when the fighting first started breaking out. Our convoys were always the first to get hit. We were easy targets, and we sure as hell didn't get all those fancy armored Humvees the Army got. If we got exploded, we got exploded."_

"_And Jane was…"_

"_A lance corporal at the time. One of my team leaders. She was promoted before we shipped out. She was… messed up for a while after we came back. Reckless. Anxious to get back to Iraq. She was angry. We didn't get deployed again, and by the time re-enlistment came up for her, we were already pulling out of the country. She wasn't interested in going to Afghanistan. Only Iraq."_

"_Reckless sounds like the Jane we know. It's what got her into this mess, too."_

"_I'm not surprised." The Gunny sipped from her coffee. "Do you really think this is a good idea? My being there might spark up some bad memories for her. Memories she might not be remembering. Do we wanna risk bringing all that up?"_

"_All I know," said Korsak," is that she needs some sorta anchor from her past. Can't think of anyone better than the gunny who shipped with her."_

"_Point taken." Gunny Bothwell rose. "Excuse me for a second. This coffee isn't doing too good on my bladder."_

_Bothwell left and Korsak turned to Maura; "So what do you think?"_

"_She reminds me a little of Jane."_

"_Well. From the small things Jane told me, Jane idolized that woman. That woman was like family to her."_

"_What should we do?"_

"_We start slow. And maybe she'll start to remember. Probably she'll start to remember. The doc said that if we did this the right way, it'd be temporary. Said she might even start remembering stuff this week."_

"_What if… What if it's better that she doesn't remember?"_

"_What?"_

"_The memory loss might very well be because she wants to block something out. There's something she doesn't _want _to remember. Do we really want her to have to bring the idea of Hoyt back into her life? Do we want her to remember shooting herself? Or killing someone else? Going away to prison? Do we want her to remember those things?"_

"_I don't know, doc… Losing ten years of your life like that…"_

"_I miss her, too, Vince. But if she doesn't remember any of it, if she doesn't remember us, maybe that's better."_

Jane looked up at Maura.

She wanted to remember this woman. She really did.

There was something about her…

"You know, doc," she found herself saying, as her eyes began to close. "I dream about you."


	11. Out Goes the Lights

**I don't own anything.**

**Out Goes the Lights - Spoon**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"I always thought that record would stand until it was broken."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p><strong><span>USMC Terms Glossary<span>**

**MARPAT - Short for Marine Pattern. It's the official USMC digital camouflage pattern. The Army equivalent is ACU, the Air Force equivalent are the Tiger Stripes, and the Navy equivalent is the Navy Working Uniform, which looks like the ACU's except blue.**

**XO - The second in command officer. In the chain of command he's right below the Commanding Officer (CO).**

**Head - Toilet**

**Rack - Bed**

**Cover - Hat**

**MRE - Meals Ready to Eat. Rations.**

**Lat Move - Short for Lateral Move. It's when you switch your speciality within the branch.**

**MP - Military Police**

**PCS - Permanent Change of Station. When you transfer to another base.**

**Quarterdeck - Punishment at boot. Basically the Drill Instructor PT's you like none other.**

**NCO - Non-Commissioned Officer. All enlisted personnel between the rates of Corporal and Sergeant.**

**SNCO - Staff Non-Commisioned Officer. All enlisted personnel between the rates of Staff Sergeant and Master Gunnery Sergeant / Sergeant Major.**

**Frat - Short for Fraternization. Frat refers to any strong relationship between non-related officers and enlisted personnel. Also refers to strong relationships between NCOs and junior enlisted personnel, especially within the chain of command. Against military policy. Can be punishable by discharge. **

* * *

><p>25 December 2002.<p>

Lance Corporal Rizzoli grimaces as she lifts up the MARPAT. All that dirt and sand caked to it, and the sleeve sticks out all stiff. She makes the decision to hold it to her nose for a brief while but immediately regrets it. It smells worse than it looks. Not that she could help it. The XO managed to get the outpost's water tank all messed up, and now only three squads could get a turn at the showers per week.

Somehow, Warpig Four-Two managed to draw the very short end of the stick. No, scratch that. The whole damn platoon managed to draw the short end of the stick. Just about every except for them had their turns at the showers already.

But at least squad one was getting their turn in.

What she would give for a water bottle shower, believe it or not.

She folds away the set, pinching the cloth (if you can still call it that) by her fingertips. But shower or no shower, she's already feeling cleaner. She'd managed to go without a little water for the day, and it felt good to get some of the grime off her face and the sand out of her mouth. Even after brushing she could still feel those fine grains grind between her molars.

The goddamn sand got everywhere.

Normally that would piss her off, but today she's feeling good. The Santa cover flops comically atop their head.

It didn't matter that they were in fucking Iraq, getting shot at and exploded. It didn't matter that they were in fucking Ramadi, constantly wary of the threat of mortar rounds unexpectedly crashing down onto the roofs of their temporary homes. Some poor guy last week nearly had a heart attack while sitting on the head taking some big crap. And _boom_. Artillery lands five stalls down.

That was the difference sometimes. Between life and death.

The toilet stall you chose.

But none of it mattered; it's fucking Christmas.

They had spent the previous night cutting out silver snowflakes and stars out of the MRE main meal baggies. They even managed to put together a relatively decent looking Christmas tree made entirely out of wires and other pieces of trash they found lying around the outpost. No, scratch "decent." The tree looked more like that pathetic little thing that Charlie Brown picked out.

But it was their tree.

Jane looks over at the tree and sees a little plate by the tree. Some PFC left it out last night covered in the opened fruits and nuts packs that came with every MRE. He said it was for Santa and the reindeer.

No one deserves _that _kind of torture, Jane thinks, laughing.

Clearly, though, someone ate whatever was on the plate.

She smoothens down the new set of MARPAT she has on, taking out all the folds. She kept this set clean for weeks. She hadn't worn it once since she had last washed it, and as she looks down at her old, dirtier set, she knows she paid the price. But it was a good price to pay.

It was a great price to pay.

The slightly cooler nighttime Iraqi air fills every sac in Jane's lungs as she walks over to the hanger. A mortar round had blown out parts of the ceiling, and for once, Jane's glad. No one had gotten hurt, the Humvees were fine, and now the hanger had a skylight. She immediately finds her own vehicle and climbs up on it, putting out the little makeshift meal.

The little MRE heaters start to heat the food.

"Kate," she breathes, as she watches the other woman stride in.

Jane jumps off the Humvee and drinks in the sight; Kate's blond hair is pulled back into a neat sock bun. Her face, had somehow, stayed clean. Everybody else stayed all grimy, but she… She glowed. Even in Iraq, she glows. Hell.

"Hi, Jane," whispers the other woman.

And suddenly they seek each other out. They seek the other's warmth. They seek each other's arms, and they stay there like that, breathing into the other's skin.

They can't say it outright; none of them can. Iraq has been hard on them all. Ramadi wasn't supposed to be like this. Ramadi was supposed to be quiet. Safe. Uneventful. They had even wondered if any of them would receive that coveted Combat Action ribbon, but now, none of them had to wonder.

None of them really wanted it anymore, either.

So, in the dancing light and shadows of the hanger, Jane holds Kate, and Kate holds Jane. They're like playing cards being stood up on their sides, except it don't work like that, and it can't work like that, so they lean against each other and keep each other propped up, standing.

And this way no one falls.

"Merry Christmas, Jane," Kate says.

"Yeah. Merry Christmas." Jane pulls herself away from the other woman and smiles as she guides her to the Humvee. "C'mon," she says, and she silently pulls her up on to the roof of the vehicle.

"Jane, this is great."

And the woman blushes; "Thanks. Managed to find some good meals too. I got us chicken parm. None of that vegetarian chili crap. Ew."

"This coming from the one who spent time up at Mountain Warfare and ate bugs for a week?"

"That was better. At least you knew the bugs were supposed to taste gross. The chili tries to trick you. But really it looks like cat shit… And then they give you that tortilla! Then it's like a cat shit taco. Who wants a cat shit taco?"

"Simmer down, simmer down."

"You brought it up," Jane whines, smiling.

"No, I didn't you did. Now, let's eat."

"If you say so, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am, Jane."

"Alright, Lance Corporal," she whispers, nuzzling her lips against Kate's neck. "That better?"

"Yeah… it does…" The other woman swallows. "God, Jane… I missed this. I missed us."

"I have too. It's hard. But we're halfway down, right? And maybe all those damn hajji'll calm down for the next three months. Give us a break."

"I doubt that."

"Hey, it's Christmas. We can hope."

"Of course, we can."

"Remember how it was? Before we left? Remember that thing we were talking about?"

"That thing?" says Kate, but her eyes clearly shows that she knows exactly what Jane is talking about.

She likes teasing her.

"Yeah," Jane says, and her voice takes on a huskier tone. "You know, re-enlistment's up and I'm thinking about lat moving into MP… We could get a PCS to Hawai'i or Camp Pendleton… We can have that house with the nice lawn, and a dog…"

"…named Watson," finishes Kate. She smiles. "I remember, Jane. I like that idea… I… I like it a lot."

The two have their backs on the Humvee and they're staring up at the stars dotting the sky like frozen fireworks. Jane smiles as she finds Kate's hand with her own. She's never seen stars like this. Not once. She had gone from Boston, to Parris Island, to Quantico. You sure as hell couldn't see this many stars in Boston or D.C., and if there were ever any stars up in that sky in Parris Island, Jane never knew. A drill instructor would've quarter-decked her nice and good if she had ever looked up at the sky.

"You know," Kate says, "word _is_ going around that you might be getting the promotion up to corporal. After that last one… they need someone to lead up fourth squad."

"We'll see. Could be you that's up."

"Nah. You are." She turns her head to look over at her girlfriend. "You do realize that if you get bumped up to NCO that this'll technically be frat."

Jane smiles before smoothing down her clean set of MARPAT again. It really was the closet thing she had to nice clothing. She would've liked to have worn a nice suit. Or something. But this, for now, will have to make do.

"C'mon, sit up," she says. She holds her hand. "Close your eyes, okay?"

"Um, sure…"

"Just do it, Kate," Jane laughs. "Trust me. You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course, I do."

"Good," she says, and she pulls something small out of her pocket and presses it against Kate's hand. She smiles as she watches her girlfriend attempt to analyze the situation. She moves her lips to her ear, breathing her words. "If they do give me my corporal stripes… it won't be frat, Kate. Open your eyes."

Kate's eyes opens wide as she sees what's pressed against her palm. They open wider when Jane uses a free hand to pop open the small little box.

She looks up at the woman; "Ask me," she says. "Ask me, Jane. Ask me, because I want it all. I want the house, I want the perfect little lawn in Camp Pendleton, I want the dog named Watson, I want to come home to _you _every day, and I want _you _to come home to _me_ everyday. Ask me, because I love you."

They sit there, two Marines beneath the Iraqi starlight, staring into each other's eyes. They sit there, two Marines who had managed to find peace in a land soaked with turmoil, with bloodshed.

Lance Corporal Jane Rizzoli squeezes her stomach as she breathes her next words; "Marry me."

* * *

><p>18 November 2014.<p>

"Jane! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm tryna do?" She answers, in her matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I'm walkin."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

Jane lets out a small yelp as she stumbles forward every so slightly, and the bag in Maura's hands crashes down as she leaps forward, catching the detective in her arms. She holds her up by the waist, struggling to keep her steady.

Jane is much heavier than she is.

"See?" Maura whispers. "You're not walking. _This _is not walking."

"I _was _walking!" whines Jane. "I was walking perfectly fine two minutes ago!"

"No, you weren't. You were falling. That's not walking. You're going to hurt yourself, Jane."

"Fine," Jane says, and Maura gives a small smile as she watches the other woman pout. She missed this. It had been years since she had last seen Jane pout. "You're right. I wasn't walking. Happy?"

"Very much so. Really, your quadriceps femoris muscles have been severely damaged in the crash. Not to mention that there has been tearing across your extensor digitorum longus, tibialis anterior, and triceps surae."

"My _what _has been severely damaged? And not to mentioned my what, what, and what?"

"Your quadriceps femoris, extensor digitorum longus… Really, Jane? Are you going to make me repeat everything?"

"Uh, no. Don't try. It's okay."

"Well the point is, you aren't strong enough to be walking on your own yet."

She frowns as she watches an expression of delight spread across Jane's face. That look never had bode well in the past. She doesn't expect that change. Not ever. That expression never means something good… It means Jane is plotting.

"So I'm not _strong _enough to walk on my own, right?"

"Yes, I believe that you just repeated exactly what I just said."

"So help me."

"What?"

"Help me," Jane says again, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. She nods towards the other side of the room. "I've only managed a couple steps so far, and… I'm tryna make it over there. So help me."

"A-are you sure you want _me _to help you?"

"Of course," Jane pouts, frowning. "Anyone else in this room with me right now?"

"I could call your mother…"

"No!" Jane puts a hand over Maura's mouth. "Do not do that. That would not be good."

Maura removes Jane's hand with her own; "Okay, Jane. I'll help you."

She can't stop the fire run across her chest as she watches the detective's eyes light up. It's a happy fire. A content fire. And when a large smile breaks across Jane Rizzoli's face, Maura can't imagine being anywhere else.

"Here," she says, slinging one of Jane's arms over her shoulders. She wraps her free arm around Jane's waist, ignoring the knot tightening in her throat. "Lean on me, okay? We'll take this one step at a time."

Jane nods, and tentatively she moves a foot forward.

Slowly, they fall into a rhythm.

Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe.

Step. Pause. Breathe.

"Maura," Jane says.

"Yes?"

"Could you… Could you tell me more about _Detective _Jane Rizzoli? I mean… What was she like?"

Step. Pause. Breathe.

"Well… I'd say… Jane Rizzoli _is _a strong woman. A passionate woman who cares about her job very much. A passionate woman who cares about doing the right thing." She looks up at the taller woman. "The Jane Rizzoli I know never backs down from a challenge, absolutely deplores the men her mother sets her up with, and loves her sports teams to an almost psychological worrying degree."

"Psychological worrying degree?" repeats Jane, a crooked smile spreading.

"Well, most Americans seem to have a clinical obsession with their sports teams. So it's not that unusual."

"You," Jane whispers, in theory to Maura, but mostly to herself. "Talking google. Cute."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh. Right. What? Nothing. Tell me more about Detective Jane Rizzoli."

"I think you're fishing for compliments now."

"Hey! I wouldn't do something like that… Wait. Would I?"

"Contrary to what you believe, Jane. Despite the memory loss, you are still the same person. _You _have not changed. The Jane Rizzoli that I know, and the Jane Rizzoli that I sincerely believe has always existed, cares deeply about the people around her. Her family. And she would do anything she could to protect them."

Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe.

"I did something, didn't I?"

"You have to remember that on your own, Jane."

"That's what everyone's been saying," she moans, frustrated. "But I just wanna know. I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of this all. I just wanna be… I just…"

She faces Maura; "did the Jane Rizzoli you knew ever tell you if it gets better? If I remember everything… will it go away? Do you think it'll go away? I want it to go away, Maura…"

Somehow, both women know exactly what Jane Rizzoli is talking about, and Maura feels her heart break.

She shakes her head.

"I don't know, Jane. I'm sorry."

Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe.

"Well," she says, huskily, finally bringing their rhythm to a halt. "We made it. Huh."

"_You _made it."

"Yeah, with your help." Jane looks down at her hospital get-up. "Oh crap."

"What is it?"

"There's blood down the front of my shirt."

Maura brings a finger forward and runs it down the stain, ever so slightly grazing the skin that lay beneath the cloth. Jane Rizzoli found herself shivering, the small hairs on the back of her neck bristling. Her hair was all tied up into a sock bun, and her neck was cold. Really cold.

"We can't be sure that's blood," whispers Maura, and all Jane can do is nod. "That's a reddish-brown stain."

Jane laughs; "Right. I forgot. You can't ever call it blood until you test it, can you?"

"No," Maura says, frowning. Her eyes widen; "wait. I haven't told you that."

"I… I… I just know it…"

* * *

><p>30 September 2011.<p>

"You should be very, very afraid right now, Byrne."

"Forgive me if I'm not."

Detective Jane Rizzoli scoffs; "You son of a bitch." The punch lands squarely on his face. "Look here, Byrne. You should be scared. Because I've had a little a drink. And you've pissed me off. You don't wanna push me into making a stupid, stupid decision."

"I'm enjoying this. A lot. It's wicked entertaining. Because, you see, you've been painted as some great Massachusetts All-American cop. And me, I'm scum. Well, let's see. You got two options. Doing it the good way or doing it the angry way. You do it the good way, and I get to live on with my happy little life. I win. You do it the other way, and you end up knowing that deep inside, you're one of the bad ones, too. You end up knowing you're _exactly like me_."

Another punch; "Shut the fuck up."

"That's eloquent of you," he says, as he wipes a trickle of blood away. "You realize that you're the one doing all this punching. I'm not doing a thing… Don't want to get put away for assaulting an officer of the law, do I?"

"You're a piece of shit, Byrne."

"You still haven't told me why you're here, detective. I'd like to know."

"I'm here," she says, "because you're a goddamn son of a bitch, you know that? I'm here to tell you that we're gonna get you. That we're gonna put this case down and you're gonna find yourself behind bars so quick you won't even know what hit you."

"Forgive me if I have a hard time believing what you're saying. If all that's true, why aren't you down here with all your back up and an arrest warrant? Do you figure me for an idiot, detective? Do you think someone gets as high up as I do by being an idiot? I'm no idiot, detective. And I know you're here because you _know _I'm going to get away. You _know_ that you have absolutely nothing."

"I swear to God, Byrne. I'll get you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Another punch.

"You've got quite the right hook there, detective. You should work on the jab a little. It could use some work."

Yet another punch.

"Does that feel good, Rizzoli? Do you like how this feels?"

"Shut up."

"How do you think _she'll_ feel about you being here? Throwing punches at me?"

"Don't you," Jane yells, with white hot rage that surprises – to an extent – Bryne. "Don't you talk about her. Don't you say a _word _about her, hear?"

"Touchy."

"Damn straight, I'm touchy. You killed her father, didn't you? You killed Patty Doyle."

"Now, now. Don't get so impatient."

"Your own father, Byrne. You killed your own father?"

"He," he says, raising his voice. Jane smirks as she watches the man begin to lose a shred of control. "He is not my father. He did not raise me. My mother raised me to be the man that I am. Patty Doyle is nothing to me."

"I'd rather not believe that Maura's _mother_ would raise a son like you."

"Well she did. And like it or not, _Rizzoli_, Maura and I share blood. We share heritage."

"Maura's different."

"Is she? Everyone else _turned _bad, didn't they?"

"Maura's not like you. She wouldn't kill her own father. Even if she hated him to hell. She wouldn't kill _anyone_. You… You didn't blink an eye."

"Now, now. _Hypothetically_. Hypothetically, if I killed Patty Doyle, don't you think that I _would_ blink an eye? Of course, I would. I'd wonder maybe, what things might've been like. But _he _ruined everything. I'm destined for great things, detective, and Patty Doyle was in the way. So is Maura."

The punch caught him square in the jaw.

"Shut the fuck up."

"You think you can do something about it, don't you? You think you can save her now?"

"I said, shut up!"

"Perhaps I've already told my men what they need to do. They're just waiting for the right time, detective. But mark my words. They will get the job done."

Jane throws her foot against Sam Byrne's soft belly, and he reels, his face pressed against concrete. He's laughing; "You can't do anything about it, detective! Nothing! There is nothing you can do!"

"No. You're wrong. There _is _something I can do."

And then it flashes in her mind. The dreams she's been having. She's back in Iraq, and the burning Humvees are hot against her skin. She doesn't want to turn around because she already knows what's beside her. She already knows and she doesn't want to see it and she's soaking through the MARPAT with her sweat and she's screaming for her team to respond but no one's answering.

And she can't help it anymore. She can't help but turn around, and she sees her. She doesn't look at her face, but she can see the blood pooling around the crushed legs. Too much blood. The skin's already drained. There's nothing left. There's nothing left but her eyes move down to see the face. The face is unmistakable. She dreams and it isn't Kate's face anymore, lying there in the Iraqi road.

It's Maura.

And she has to remind herself it's just a dream.

It's just a dream.

She grabs Bryne's collar, and she's already got her gun out, and it's already pressed against his knee cap.

Her voice is shaky; "No, I won't let it happen again…"

She pulls the trigger. He screams in pain. She presses the barrel against the other kneecap, and he screams again as the tip burns his skin.

"I'm not gonna let it happen again, you hear? Not again. Not ever."

She pulls the trigger. His face is white now, and he's shivering. His breathing is labored.

"Whatever you do, detective, they will go after her. You can't do anything. Nothing. Nothing…"

"No! No. She's not… I won't let it happen. It's not going to happen."

"You can't do anything, detective."

"No, you're wrong."

She shakes her head and is numb and doesn't realize that she's lifting the gun to his forehead. She shakes her head again and pushes away the image of a dead Maura out of her mind and is numb and doesn't realize that she's pulling the trigger again.

"They'll get the message," she whispers. She rips the badge off her neck and drops it down on the body. "They'll get it."

"Korsak? …Yeah. I need you to come down here and book me."

* * *

><p>26 December 2002.<p>

Everyone was smiling. Lance Corporal Rizzoli was smiling. They'd already finished their early morning run through Ramadi, and they didn't have to do another run until the next day. It was nice to have the two days relatively off. It was even nicer that those days coincided with Christmas. The MRE stars and snowflakes still hung around the barracks, hovering over all the racks.

"So what'd she say, Rizzoli?"

"Quiet down, Lee," she mutters, trying not to be pleased with herself.

"She said yes, didn't she?" pipes in another private.

"Hey, that means you too, Nelson."

"Oh C'mon, Ritz. Don't be like that. Tell us."

"It's not a big deal," she says, but she can't stop the smile spreading across her face. "Really, it's not."

"Well it's about time," growls Archer from his rack, but he can't stop his smile either.

Nelson pops off his rack and walks up towards Archer; "Pay up. I said it'd be _after _Christmas eve. I win. We use _your _cigars."

"You bet on me?"

"What else are we supposed to do?" growls Archer again, as he hands over the five cigars. "I don't have a light. Get us a light."

"Gunny's sleeping off that last mission. I'll go get the lieutenant," says the PFC, smoothly sauntering away.

Jane smiles as she watches the two members of her fire team peel off in different directions. They had all been fresh out of boot when they got the call to head out to Ramadi. Hell, all three of them were fresh outta boot. Archer and Nelson had come out from Parris Island, Lee from San Diego. It had been easy for Rizzoli to tell that the three eighteen year olds were scared out of their minds.

Well, she would've been worried if they hadn't been.

They looked up to her. Almost as much as they looked up to Gunny Bothswell and the lieutenant.

It felt good, to be looked up to.

Archer gives her a funny look.

"What?"

"I dunno, Ritz," he growls, good naturedly. He's always growling, like he's got sandpaper permanently glued to his throat. "It's a funny thing. A little surreal. It's like we're not really here, but we are."

"You miss your fiancée, don't you?"

"Well not everyone gets to spend their deployment with their girl, you know."

"We'll get home, Archer. We'll get home in time for you to get to see that little girl open up her little eyes, hear? We'll all hit up the E-club for one of those funny cocktails they keep stocked. We'll get home."

"You keep saying that, but people keep getting exploded."

"Hey, our squad's the only one that hasn't been hit yet. Maybe someone's got an eye out for us or something."

Lee glides back into the barracks, his face cool as he tags behind the lieutenant. The man has a large smile plastered across his face. Nelson's stumbling over himself, the matches in one hand, and the other stuck out for balance.

"Sir! Sir! Ritz asked!"

"I heard," he says settling himself down across from one of his team leaders.

Nelson hands out the cigars, and the lieutenant brings it up to his nose and sniffs. He loves these moments, with his platoon. It sometimes makes him regret commissioning, rather than enlisting. Every day he has to walk a fine line between "friend" and "leader," and the camaraderie is something he craves.

"Well, Rizzoli. Looks like you finally sealed the deal."

"Yes, sir. I asked last night, and…"

Jane's voice leaves her sheepishly as she fills her mouth with the cigar's flavor. She blows out the smoke and it's milky. Smooth.

"…And she said, yes," comes the voice, from behind her.

Kate.

She settles down beside Jane and the sides of their hands graze. Touch.

No PDA in uniform. No PDA in uniform.

"You better take good care of Ritz for us," says PFC Lee, and he's wearing that stoic face he pulls whenever someone outside of the tightknit fire team enters.

Rizzoli smiles. Lee's a good kid. He received the meritorious promotion out of boot camp to private first class, and here he stands now. She doesn't like to admit it, but Lee has been the most capable out of her three. If Kate was right, about the promotion, she knew exactly who she'd recommend to take her place as team leader.

Nelson nods along, looking like a little kid on Christmas day.

Well, it is the day after Christmas.

Kate takes the cigar from Jane's hand and draws in the smoke and leans into her. There's a spark lingering in both pairs of eyes. A comfort. A contentment. A happiness. A joy. The lieutenant smiles. Iraq had taken away so much. It had taken away their comforts. Their flesh. The lives of their comrades. But somehow, somehow this foreign desert managed to give his two Marines something they might've never had otherwise.

Because here, ironically, they don't have to worry.

They don't have to worry about who knows and who sees.

It doesn't matter when IEDs are exploding beneath them, when bullets are shooting across the landscape, and when mortars are falling atop their heads.

Here, they can be together.

"Sir, I just got a call from the CO." One of his SNCO's walked into the barracks. He's out of breath. "Joker Two just got hit real bad. They need us to make a run to Hospital Point for a couple medevacs."

"Shit. Alright. We can call it a day after this one."

* * *

><p>20 November 2014.<p>

"I want beer."

"No, Jane."

"I want coffee."

"No, Jane."

"I want Red Bull."

"No, Jane."

The detective briefly looks away as she considers her next words; "I want whisky."

"How is that better?"

"I dunno," Jane says, shrugging. "It tastes good. And I'm bored."

Maura sighs; "I can't give you beer. Or whisky."

"I know, I know… My pain meds… Yada yada yada."

"Then why did you ask?"

Jane shrugs again; "It was worth a shot."

The room falls silent again, and the small little hospital television begins to buzz with noise as a running back rolls over the line for a touch down. A comical frown forms across Jane's face, jerking her arms towards the screen as if she could punch through to the field.

"You were supposed to sack him!" she yells, forgetting her injuries. "Ow."

"Jane!" Maura puts her hand over the detective's. "How many times have I told you to hold still? You're going to get even more hurt than you already are."

"I forgot," she whines, and she clicks of the TV, still frowning. She lowers her voice; "C'mon. Sneak me out."

"What?"

"Sneak me out," Jane repeats, slowly, motioning towards the door with clenched teeth.

"I'm not a child, Jane. I know what you said. I can't sneak you out!"

"Why not? It'll be fun!"

"Well… I… It's…"

"C'mon, Maura," she whines. Suddenly she immediately knows to change her tactic. "I will crawl out of here if I have to."

"No! You'll hurt yourself, Jane."

"Then help me," she says, again in that tone of voice when she doesn't want anyone else to here.

Clenched teeth and all.

"Fine, I… Okay. Let me help you up."

Slowly, just as before, Jane throws her weight onto Maura. She smiles as she feels the doctor's arm sneak around her waist. It feels good. It feels right. It feels comfortable.

It takes the edge away.

They walk quicker than they did before. Jane's strength is already beginning to return. Her muscles are already beginning to heal. Jane sticks her head out the door, peering around the wall to scout for the patrolling nurses. Well, they weren't patrolling, but Jane likes to think that they are.

"Coast clear," she whispers. "Let's go before someone comes."

"Okay," Maura nods, whispering, and they fall into a quick rhythm as they hobble, attempting to reach the corner as swiftly as possible. "Jane?" she whispers again.

"Yeah?"

"Why are we whispering?"

"Shh, just keep going."

"Did you just shush me?"

Jane attempts to quicken her step; "Crap, I think I hear a nurse coming, quick turn that corner. Let's go outside."

Their steps quicken and frantically the two stumble for the door, desperately attempting to stay silent as they hear the voices of the two nurses grow louder and louder. Maura can't help but consider how they look. Like dogs attempting a three legged race, maybe.

"Quick, quick," Jane says, giggling. "C'mon!"

They turn the corner and burst through the door, and they're leaning against the wall trying to catch their breaths as laughter begins to bubble through them. Their cheeks are flushed in the sunlight, and Maura leans against Jane as she laughs. It's hard to remember that any of it had happened. It's hard to remember that Jane had killed her brother. It's hard to remember that Jane had been sent to prison. It's hard to remember that Jane had almost been killed and that her memory of the past ten years was still buried deep in her mind.

It's hard to remember because somehow, somehow they had fallen into it again. Into friendship. Into that burgeoning love that Maura still felt strong in her heart. Somehow it felt good again. As if they had just once again begun their friendship and had fast forwarded to the part where they find their niche.

Maura wonders why it's coming back so soon.

Jane wonders why it's so easy. So comfortable.

"So, where do you want to go?" Maura asks.

"I think I know where. C'mon, help me and I'll show you."

They fall back into that slow rhythm.

Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe. Step. Pause. Breathe.

They turn the corners, walk over the grass, feel the bricks beneath their feet. The bench overlooks the small little pond that the hospital installed for their more mobile patients. The bench had once been painted green, but all the paint is chipped away, and there are only spots of artificial color left. The wood is worn and smooth and brown.

"Well, this is it," Jane says, and she contemplates the surprised look that had overcome Maura's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's… wrong… How did you know to come here?"

"I just did. Seemed like the right place to go."

"We've been here before. The last time you were in the hospital."

"I seem to come here a lot."

"You do."

"Speaking of, you know what I could use right now?" Jane looks down at her gurgling stomach. "Jello. I could use some Jello."

Maura raises an eyebrow before plunging her hand into her purse. She reveals two cups filled with the wobbling substance. She peels the plastic off the tops and hands Jane a spoon.

"I thought you might want some," she says, and she hands Jane the cup in her left hand. "It's lime. I know you like the green one."

"You know, sometimes I think I try to get back in here. For the free jello."

"I'd rather you not," Maura says, frowning.

"Don't worry, I'm just teasing," she replies, and she surprises herself by placing her hand on Maura's knee. "What did you get for yourself?"

"I found that I'm much more fond of strawberry."

Detective Jane Rizzoli laughs; "Strawberry? Of course. You know, you're just like your turtle."


	12. Part IV: Morning in May

**I don't own anything**

**Part IV: Morning in May - Ludo**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"I always thought that record would stand until it was broken."<em>**

**_Yogi Berra_**

* * *

><p>The sun poured in through the openings of the blinds. Jane Rizzoli opened her eyes and let a small smile show through on her own face. The windows, though the blinds were down, were cracked open, and she could feel the light breeze wrap around her calves and tickle her neck. With every breath, a warm feeling in her chest mixed in with the cool air, and she smiled at the sensation. Everything felt right. In place. Snug. She set her suitcase by the door and walked forward. She hardly noticed that she wasn't making a sound. Staying silent was a hard habit to break. It was residue from the war they had left behind. Of course, it couldn't been worse. She could've ended up worse, like some of the others. This was good.<p>

Her figure stood out against the warm light. An old jacket was draped over the back of a chair, and shoes were kicked to the side. The sight of her shoes and socks lying on the wood floor made something warm stir in her heart and she couldn't help but smile like an idiot, like a sixteen year old girl whose had her first real crush. She couldn't erase the feeling that she had been waiting so long for this one moment. She couldn't believe it. There was a picture, on the counter, of the two of them both, standing together on some beach that Jane could hardly remember. There was another, beside it, of Jane in her dress blues, the blood stripe running down the side of her trousers, and her NCO sword hanging at her waist. Kate stood in her arms, the white dress flowing from her frame.

She rested her chin on the woman's shoulder and wrapped her arms around her waist. She traced her thumb across the woman's abdomen, tracing the muscle.

"Hey beautiful," she said.

"Hi Jane."

Jane Rizzoli felt the woman lean into her body, into her arms. She buried her face in the crux of the woman's neck.

"Kate?" she said.

"Yes?"

"It's amazing out."

"That's true."

"The weather's better here than in Iraq."

"Well I should think so. We got the transfer into Hawai'i. I'd be worried if it weren't nice out."

"I'm glad we did this."

"Well sit down. I'm microwaving dinner."

Jane reluctantly peeled herself away from Kate, backing away into the chair. Her eyes never left the still standing figure. She smiled as kate turned around the take-out Chinese food in her hands. She set them down on the table, taking a seat herself.

"What? Did you expect me to cook?"

"This is perfect. You're perfect."

"You're flattering me."

"Of course, I am."

Kate stuck her fork in the fried rice and heaped some onto her plate. She pushed the black plastic containers toward Jane. They were silent, as the steam from the food lifted up into the air and drifted away. Jane found herself smiling again. This was good. It was all so good. She took in a bite of the food and chewed, letting the flavors sink into her mouth. She let her eyes drift shut. She let herself - let herself to the highest degree - listen to the world around her. The birds chirped. The children outside laughed as they ran by. A dog, somewhere, barked. A car, in the distance, drove by, and all of it sounded so… warm. Happy.

Jane set her fork down on the table, and the sound, to her ears, was deafening.

"This didn't happen, did it?" Jane said, and she watched as Kate looked up from her food. "I mean, this isn't a memory. This is not something I'm remembering."

Kate gave Jane a bittersweet smile; "No, Jane. It isn't."

"We… we never got the transfer into Hawai'i."

"No."

"We never got ourselves a house together."

"No."

"And you… You never even left Iraq."

Jane felt a tear, one single lone tear, leave her eye.

"No, Jane. I didn't."

"So what is this. You're not some sort of ghost are you?"

"I'm not."

"Then what is this? What's going on?"

"You overworked yourself the other day. When you went out with Maura. You've been in a coma for the past twenty-four hours."

"Maura?"

Kate put her arms down on the table and leaned in; "You love her, remember?"

"I don't know what I remember anymore."

"You would go to hell and back for that woman. You already have."

"But she isn't you!" Jane's voice was exasperated. Tired. "She just… She isn't you. I miss you."

"She isn't me. But that doesn't mean you can't love her. You can love her, Jane… maybe even more than you've ever loved me."

"That's impossible. You're the love of my life, Kate. I swore that wouldn't change."

"It doesn't have to. But think about it, Jane. Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes, every single event that happens in our lives happen only to lead up to one, single thing. It might be whether or not we take a left or right turn and the intersection. It might be which job we choose. It might even be some tragic thing we'd rather forget. But they happen for a reason, Jane. You can still love me. As much as you did before. You didn't realize this, but the love you felt for me wasn't what you really thought it was. Jane, you loved me because if we didn't happen, you never would've found _her_. If we didn't happen, you never would've cared for her as much as you do. You never would've felt the immense love for her that you do."

Jane's voice was weak and shivered in her throat; "And what about you?"

"I got what I wanted. Why do you think I joined up with the Corps?" Kate paused and smiled softly. "Well, of course, you know why. In case you've forgotten, I haven't had the best of childhoods. I didn't have parents who loved me. I've never had anyone who really loved me. But you gave me love, Jane, when no one else would. You made me feel wanted. You made me feel part of a family. You have a gift, Jane Rizzoli. Don't waste it getting hung up on me. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"It still hurts."

"Of course it does."

"Does it get better?" Jane said, and her voice wavered.

Kate stood from where she sat and shifted herself over to Jane. She fell to her knees and put a hand on Jane's thigh, her eyes growing softer as she looked up at the pained woman. Her thumb moved in circles as she attempted to comfort her.

"It gets easier, Jane. And you have Maura to thank for that. You'll figure it out soon. That you'd do it all over again. For her."

And that's when Jane stood, pulling Kate up and bringing her into an embrace. She held the other woman close, afraid, almost, to let her go. Her eyes closed she forced herself to memorize Kate's every curve: her outline. She didn't want to forget. She couldn't.

"What if I want to stay here with you?"

"You can't."

"But you're here. Alive. I know what you said before, but… Why can't I stay with you?"

"Jane, I'm not real. I'm a memory. Your memory. I'll always be with you, but that's all I am. A memory of what could've been."

Jane paused, still caught in the embrace, her mind furiously arguing with itself.

"If that's what you are… How do I know that the things you're saying aren't just me rationalizing something that shouldn't be. Rationalizing Maura."

"You don't know this… You don't _remember_ this but… I left you something, Jane." Kate pulled away from Jane and looked into her eyes. "There's a safety deposit box. You'll know what I'm talking about when you wake up. It has everything you need to know, to prove that what I'm saying right now is real and true."

Jane paused again and pulled Kate back into the embrace.

Kate laughed, weakly into Jane's shoulder; "Jane, you have to wake up."

"Just… give me this, Kate. I've still missed you. I've… been waiting for this for so long. To hold you again like this. Please."

"Okay," she whispered.

And slowly, ever so slowly, everything began to fade, and Jane became acutely aware that her eyes were closed and about ready to open. She struggled to keep them closed, to hold on to her moment with Kate for a second longer. The scene faded to black, and a strange comfort settled into Jane's heart. She opened her eyes.

"Maura?" she said.

"Oh, Jane…" Maura flung herself onto Jane. "You're awake. I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have taken you out like that…"

"No.. Maura, it's okay. It's fine. Don't worry."

"You were in a coma, Jane…"

"I know. It's okay. It's fine. _I'm_ fine."

"How are you feeling?"

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry this took so long to put up. Enjoy!<strong>


	13. Use Somebody

**I don't own anything.**

**Use Somebody - Kings of Leon  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>He must have made that before he died.<em>  
><strong>

**_Yogi Berra  
><em>**

* * *

><p>"What do you mean she's still alive?"<p>

"She is much more of a fighter than we expected. It was a miracle she survived."

The crash of a fist colliding with something thick hurtled through the room; "Idiot!"

"She has lost most of her memory…"

"Not good enough! Let me tell you something. All she needs to do is remember your face. And if she can remember your face, she can find you. If she finds you, she finds us. If she finds us, we fail. Can I make this any clearer to you? Do you need me to outline a simpler logic? You have placed the odds of our operation succeeding on the whims of the human body. You cannot gamble with this! Memories come and go. There always exists the possibility. Do not forget that."

"I can fix this."

"I don't see how."

"I'll find a way."

"What you don't seem to understand is that there is a very specific reason why I have succeeded thus far. I do not gamble. I do not take chances. I do not leave it up to the winds of possibility. This - all of this - is about control. It is about the ability to see past the chaos caused by this world. You, my friend, are a loose end. You have proven yourself to be too easily swayed by the games of chaos; there exists too many possibilities with you. This ends now."

"I…"

"What have I taught you? Don't be afraid. You will reincarnate. Not in the best of circumstances, I assume, but that was the price you chose to pay, was it not?"

"Yes. It was."

"A bullet to the brain. Allow him to pull the trigger if desired. When it is done, feed him to the animals. They haven't eaten today."

Another voice answered from the darkness; "Yes, sir."

Pause.

"The war is starting."

"Yes, sir."

"And she… she is the key to it all. She is the Helen in this conflict, the one who must be obtained. There is no question. There can be no compromise."

"Yes, sir."

"Therefore… you do understand the magnitude of our friend's mistake, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Detective Jane Rizzoli must be exterminated."

"Of course, sir."

"The measures I told you about earlier. Do you remember them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Put them in place and activate. It begins."

* * *

><p><em>Dear Jane.<em>

_If you're reading this… you know what's happened. I won't put it into words. I'm sorry if this is hard to read but, you know how it is here. I can't get the sand out of my ink stick, and the paper they've been giving us definitely have something strange about them. I can't put my finger on it, but I know there's something wrong. I'm sorry. You're probably expecting something profound and meaningful. A sort of last words kind of thing that you can keep around with you or something._

_The truth is, I don't know how I'm supposed to go about doing this at all._

_Gunny made me take the paper and ink stick and told me to write you, just in case. She even showed me the letter she wrote to that husband she has stateside. I know we said we wouldn't need one, that nothing would happen, and that Ramadi wouldn't be so bad but… The way things have been lately… Well, we've already been wrong about the last thing, and I don't want anything to happen without me getting a couple things written down on paper to you. I even had Staff Sergeant help me write out a will._

_It's still strange though. I'm going to see you in twenty minutes._

_We're heading to the COP again with the supplies._

_I don't even know when you're going to read this, if it's going to be tomorrow, or next week, or after the deployment, or even at all._

_I think it just feels strange to be writing to future Jane._

* * *

><p>Maura didn't read the letter. She wanted to, but she didn't. All she could let herself see were the black letter scrawled across the front of the envelope.<p>

"Give this to Jane," it read. "Kate."

It still burned like a hot strip of metal across her frontal lobe. She hadn't even known it. She hadn't even known that Jane felt that way about women. After everything, Jane hadn't even disclosed that one minuscule sliver of information, and that little sliver was barely the tip of the iceberg. She never had to tell her the details, of what happened in Iraq, of Kate. Maura rubbed her forward, taking in slow deep breaths, just like they taught her to do in all those yoga classes. Except she felt her breath catching. Jane had never even mentioned that she had been in the military. You think it would've come up during Fleet Week, or all those times Korsak talked about being a Marine. Well, Korsak, apparently, knew a few of the details, and more of the major chunks. But Maura? No. It was an unsettling pit in her stomach.

Jane had never shared anything with her.

Not about her past.

Not truly.

But there she was, standing in the bank that Maura didn't even know that Jane could afford, before a table that held a shoebox shaped box, the envelope lying neatly by its side.

Maura pulled out the walnut box Angela had given her, to put the things in. Jane had asked for its contents only a day earlier, insisting she see it that instant, quickly pouting in that Jane Rizzoli way to underline just how much she wanted to see its contents. Of course, Jane hadn't specified just what was in the safety deposit box, and as Maura examined every item, she knew why. With every passing minute, with every object that Maura's eyes glazed over, she wanted to move her hand over and just open that one small envelope.

Jane had even given her permission. She hadn't even thought of asking (she would never), but Jane had shrugged and told her that, if she wanted to, Maura could read whatever letters were in the box, look through any of the items. The good doctor was, after all, doing her a favor.

At this, the guilt had flared up ten-fold within Maura, as she remembered the events that had occurred before Jane had lost her memory.

The first object were the tags.

Murphy

Kate A

811-60-5555

USMC; S

The metal pendants, framed by the dark rubber silencers, gleamed, shining the fluorescent overhead lights into her eyes. They looked as though they were new and had never even touched the sands of the Middle East. Carefully, Maura rewrapped the dog tags in the satin cloth, gingerly placing them into the walnut box.

There were small boxes, lined with felt. Maura snapped each of them open, curiosity overpowering her.

There was the Navy Good Conduct Medal, the Navy Meritorious Unit Commendation, and the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal. These were much like the tags that had come before. Buffed. Meticulously cleaned. Taken care of to the fullest degree.

The others were different. One by one, Maura opened up the rest of the small boxes before placing them into their new home, slowly furrowing her brow more and more and more.

The Purple Heart had been lain askew.

There was a scruff on the Combat Action Ribbon.

The bronze medallion of the Iraq Campaign Medal had lost its gleam and its shine; it laid in its case, lackluster and dull.

And then there was that Bronze Star.

Maura ran her finger across the star, wondering if Jane had ever even opened the box before. Its surface was dull, much like the others, the grime running over the metal piece. It reminded her of a penny. Covered in layers and layers of dirt after years of neglect. She remembered the citation. She had put it upon herself to read it when she first had heard.

_Awarded: Bronze Star Medal with "V" Device_

_Date action: 26 December 2002_

_Theater: Iraq_

_Reason: For extraordinary acts of valor while under direct enemy fire during ground operations against a superior hostile force: Lance Corporal Rizzoli distinguished herself by heroic actions on 26 December 2002, during Operations Iraqi Freedom. On this date, he was serving as team leader in a convoy rescue mission. At approximately 1415 hours, Lance Corporal Rizzoli's platoon was hit with an Improvised Explosive Device and was engaged with the Taliban, taking rocket, grenade, and small arms fire. Immediately, Lance Corporal Rizzoli, along with other members of her squad, returned fire. With total disregard of her own safety, she continued her assault, running from her position approximately five meters towards the enemy. Lance Corporal Rizzoli then carried the incapacitated platoon commander back to her squad's position. She once again continued her assault on the Taliban. Though wounded, she refused medical treatment until all the other wounded men and women had been treated, and was one of the last members evacuated. Her brave actions slowed further enemy fire, reduced casualties and saved lives. Lieutenant Hayes' body was returned to his family. Her bravery and professionalism is in keeping with the heights traditions of military service and reflects great credit upon herself, her unit and the United States Marine Corps._

_Authority: By the direction of the President under the provisions of Executive Order 10046._

Maura closed the box and placed it by the others.

Trinkets filled the edges of the safety deposit box; there were rocks (presumably from Iraq) and empty bullet casings that held, apparently, some sort of sentimental value.

She found a stack of photos, of Jane and Kate together, smiling. Their dress blues were crisp, their hair slicked back. The photos were from a time completely foreign to Maura, of a time before Iraq even. She had never known about Iraq, but at least it held a slight bit of familiarity. That place had been, unfortunately, the birthplace of the Jane Maura knew. The tragedy bore a pain resembling that of which Jane and Maura had endured together. She could understand it. She could at least pretend as though she knew it. But this. This felt foreign. Jane had been happy with Kate.

Maura frowned; had she ever been this for Jane?

She pulled out the Honorable Discharge paper, straightening it out after Jane had clearly haphazardly folded and wrinkled it.

Slowly, Maura packed the letter into the walnut box, on top of the post cards and brochures from Hawai'i and San Diego, beneath the silver ring ring and diamond.

Maura felt the tear roll down her cheek as she closed the walnut box, walking away from that cold, fluorescent room.

* * *

><p><em>Don't forget to water the plants, Jane. You always forget when I'm not around to tell you to do it, so this is me reminding you. Water them. If you don't water them, they'll start to rot, and I know you'll forget to throw them out too, so just water them. I know that one plant lasted three weeks without you watering it, but that seems like a once in a lifetime sort of thing. So, bottom line: water the plants.<em>

_Also, don't over-water them._

_You do that too._

_It tends to drown the plants._

_Plants are hard work, Jane. I told you when we got them! They need nurturing, Jane. Lots and lots of nurturing. Just… pretend like they're me, or something. Well, that might not be healthy. Just take care of the plants, Jane. Don't stop because of me. Because of whatever that is that happened. Ha. I can see you rolling your eyes at this right now. But I mean it, okay? You've got to let the plants grow. Let them move on. Shit happens. Yeah, heavy shit happens. We can't help that they happen, they just happen. __I swear to God, Jane. If you don't take care of those plants..._

_I'm sorry. I think this whole thing became something else._

_I told you I'm bad at this._

_I just want you to know I care about you._

* * *

><p>"Here you go, Jane. It's everything from the safety deposit box."<p>

"Thanks, Maura. I really needed this. I just… I have this feeling that this is really important."

"It was the least I could do…"

"Please stop that."

Maura looked up from her chair, loosening her folded hands, her eyes belying a sort of confusion; "Stop what? What do you mean?"

"Stop that…" Jane waved her hands in front of Maura, "that thing that you're doing."

"I still don't know what you mean, Jane. You're going to have to be more specific."

"You know. Looking like that. Saying things 'it was the least I could do.'"

"What? Why? How do I look?"

"I don't know." Jane looked around before settling back down and grumbling. "All… you know… sad? Guilty?"

"Jane…"

"Look, you didn't do anything wrong, so I want you to stop. The bastard who did this to me is the one to blame, so I want you to stop going around like you're the one who made all of this happen! This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. _Therefore_, I want you to stop."

"Jane…"

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Damn!"

"Jane…"

"I care about you, Maura. I know I don't remember you from before, but I just get this feeling in my gut that you're someone really special." Jane felt her face heat up as Maura looked down again, guilt seeping through. Jane's voice began to accelerate. "_And_ there's all the little things that I _am _starting to remember about you! Like the strawberry thing… And the bench thing… And then when I sleep, I start dreaming and… I just… I know there's something, Maura. And I know I don't like seeing you like this."

There was a pause.

"You dream about me?"

Jane felt the blood rush to her cheeks; "Uh… Well… Uh… You know…"

"You dream about me."

"When you say it like that…"

"Like what?"

"Never mind."

"What do you… dream about?"

"Uh… Well… I guess I just… see your face a lot."

"My face?"

"Yeah. Your face. I don't really know what it means but I've been seeing your face. I mean… I know it means something because… well, it started way before."

"I see…"

Jane shook her head; "Look; the whole point of this whole thing was to get you to stop feeling so guilty like that. You'll stop, won't you?"

"I don't…"

"Maura! You didn't do anything!"

And then it burst. That small little reserved part of Maura burst. It had been fling and expanding and filling and expanding for days on end, and it finally, in that moment, burst like an overstretched balloon tied to a pump. She could almost feel all the pent-up emotion shooting from her mouth with every breath.

"You don't _know _that!"

"W-what?"

"You don't _know _that I haven't done anything. You don't _remember_! You can't remember! Jane, I… I have done something bad. To you. Something I _should _feel guilty about. Jane, I hurt you. You don't remember it, but I hurt you, and just because you don't remember all of it, I can't pretend like it never happened. Do you see, Jane? I can't forget the sound of your voice after I… during the… It haunts me, Jane. Every day. And I know it's all my fault. You can see that it's not, but it is. Anyone will tell you that it's my fault. No matter what you say. _Guilty_ is _exactly _what I should be feeling. Don't you see?"

Jane had fallen silent, the muscles around her jaw tightening, like it always had, whenever she had a particularly tough case before her.

"You wanna know something?"

"Yes?"

"You're right. I don't remember. I'm trying really hard to, but I don't remember, and there's no way for me to know right now everything that happened between us. So you're right. I don't know. But guess what? I know me. That's never going to change. And I _know _that you're special to me. And I _know _that if someone's special to me, nothing they do could change the way I feel about them. And I _know _that I would _never _let _anything _take away from how much I care and…"

A pause settled between the pair, filling every inch of the space in the hospital room.

"And?"

Jane looked over at Maura, blinking as a sheepish expression spreading over her face; "And how much I want to spend the rest of my life with that person."

* * *

><p><em>I guess it's time to get serious now, to tell you what really needs to be said. I mean, I could just tell you I love you and end it there, but I know that's not enough. I know that there's so much more that you need to know. I love you, Jane, but you need to know that this isn't the end. You're going to mourn, and I'm not going to try and stop you. I'm not going to pretend like you shouldn't be said because of all of this. I know how much that doesn't make sense. Well, I know that nothing probably makes sense right now, and me telling you that this isn't the end probably isn't helping.<em>

_But it's the truth. And I want you to remember it._

_You're going to meet a girl, Jane. And you're going to fall in love. And it's okay!_

_Fall in love with her, Jane. Give her the love that you gave me. Let her love you. Care for her. If you're reading this… Well, if you're reading this, there's one thing I know for sure. I'm not the one, Jane. I'm not your soulmate. I guess I'll finally say it. I'm dead. And it was meant to happen. As much as it doesn't make sense, it was meant to happen. You know what they say. No one ever escapes their fate. If you're reading this, then this particular path is our fate. I clearly couldn't escape mine, so don't you dare try to escape yours, the next chapter of your life. Don't you dare try to escape from being happy._

_That would piss me off._

_I love you._

* * *

><p>The kiss was soft, shooting a new and foreign sensation through both Jane and Maura.<p>

It was nothing like either of them had ever felt before.

Some say that it's the silent moments, the moments when no one speaks, that are the loudest, that speak in volumes that words can never hope to hold. In that moment, Jane understood, her eyes closing as she drank in every second of that precious moment.

Because a strange feeling had erupted in her chest. And she recognized. She remembered it.

And with that sensation came flooding the memories with which it had become symbiotic:

She remembered that feeling in her chest when she first saw Doctor Maura Isles.

She remembered that feeling taking hold, consuming her throughout every late night they had spent on a case together.

She remembered that feeling shooting through to the tips of her fingers and toes all those times Jane had held Maura, and Maura, Jane.

She remembered that feeling taking root every time they spent away hours at the bar, the feeling growing exponentially with every graze and touch.

She remembered the way the feeling would grasp her, compelling her to protect her, no matter the cost.

She remembered Maura.

She remembered.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes. I'm back. I know it took a while, but I only have time to write these things when I'm on holiday. For anyone who's interested, I also have another fic started about D.E.B.S. It's a great movie (I think so anyway) so check it out.<strong>

**There's still more to come for this one too.  
><strong>


	14. I Saw the Light

**Don't own anything.  
><strong>

**I Saw the Light - Spoon**_  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong><strong>_**You can observe a lot just by watching**_

_**Yogi Berra  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em>Feedback erupted from the background as the tiny little machine switched on. The white noise was faint, a whisper providing a sort of ambiance for the conversation that was about to occur. That loud silence continued to spark and crackle. The tension was palpable. Snap. Crackle. Snap. You could almost touch the uncomfortable silence through the little, churning tape recorder. Smell it. Taste it. Feel it. Breathe it. Of course, this is everything the doctor should have expected. It was in the profile. It didn't stop the whole situation from being incredibly… awkward. Even as he played back the tape, he felt the uncomfortable aura seep back into his gut. Memories can be a powerful thing.<em>

_Doctor Cane: So what can you tell me, detective?_

_Detective Rizzoli: I don't want to do this._

_Cane: No one does. But I'm sure you are well aware how important this is…_

_Rizzoli: I know! I know. I know how important this is. I know how bad I need to remember, but I can't. I can't find it in my head, doc. I don't know what you want me to do._

_Cane: Tell me what you do remember._

_Rizzoli: What? I… It's not even related, doc. Doesn't matter._

_Cane: Everything's related. Tell me what you remember._

_Rizzoli: I… Well…_

_Cane: You know the deal, detective. Anything you say stays in this room. You don't have to worry._

_Rizzoli: I don't know about this, doc._

_Cane: This all connects, detective. And you know that this is important._

_Rizzoli: I remember her._

_Cane: Her?_

_Rizzoli: …Maura._

_Cane: Ah. Doctor Isles._

_Rizzoli: Yeah._

_Cane: So what do you remember about her?_

_Rizzoli: Everything._

_Cane: Everything?_

_Rizzoli: Yeah. Everything._

_Cane: You'll have to be more specific, detective._

_Rizzoli: I remember how it felt to be around her. To be with her. To care about her this much._

_Cane: I see._

_Rizzoli: That's all I have to say._

…_.._

Fade in. Prison cell. There's a poster on the wall for some movie she had never seen. They had been giving out the flimsy rolls of paper to the prisoners. The walls were getting bland. They needed color. And the posters, of movies that most could never dream of seeing in a real civilian theater, had just that. Color that exceeded that of the monotone, grey prison cells. It would be enough to raise morale by a couple of notches. It would keep morale low enough to maintain that perfect level of general, dismal misery. Of course, there are a few photos tacked up beside her rack. The ink is smudged in some places, and there are strips traversing each photo where the picture is faded. She had printed out the photos on the thin prison papers. But they would do. For now, they're enough.

She keeps them tacked up, neatly, adding order to the messy images of Frankie and Ma, of Korsak and Frost, of Pop even. The picture is blurry, but she can make out Maura's face. Make it clearer in her mind. She doesn't mind the low quality of the whole thing, because when she lays her eyes across that tacked up piece of paper, the image is always sharp, immaculate, perfect, as if it were being projected up on an HD television screen.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

She lets her eyes fall into a slow and steady lull as she follows the motion of the rubber ball she's throwing against the wall.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

She used to count how many times she could throw and catch that ball in an hour without dropping it.

Eventually she lost count. She couldn't even remember how long ago it was that she started. But it wasn't as if she cared to remember anyway.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

She winced as she felt warm fingers brush over the fresh bruises and scars that had made their way across her face.

"You really should have let her get at you the first time."

"She's not anything I couldn't handle."

"Oh I don't doubt that. Not when she's alone, anyway. You did a number on her yourself."

"I've faced worse."

"Right. You're just the tough guy cop, aren't you?"

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The cellmate rolls her eyes as she watches the rubber ball continue to hit the wall. She should've been annoyed by now. Hell, she should've been furious. Normally, the sound of the damn little ball hitting that wall would have driven her bat-shit crazy. But for now, right now, for some reason, there's a therapeutic beat to it.

"Listen," she says. "I get that you've got this whole… thing going. But no matter what you say, it don't matter much. It don't matter that you're some super cop, or Marine, or whatever. I mean, hell, I've seen the commercials, with all that semper fi, the few, the proud horseshit. But like I said. It don't matter. Not when you're up against _her _and her whole damn crew, you hear me? No one survives against those kind of numbers."

"Who says I'm trying to survive?"

There it is. The ever-elusive but all-telling one liner.

"Everyone wants to survive. No matter what they say. It's always in the back of their minds. That's the real deal, sweetheart."

"I don't care, alright?"

The cellmate rolls her eyes again; "Don't give me that. It's Rizzoli, right?"

Jane doesn't move. She only keeps throwing that little rubber ball.

"Hot damn. Fine. Don't answer. But here's a new flash for you, sweetheart, we're stuck together and you're gonna want me on your side these next couple of years. Let's just say I'm your new best friend. Now… I have a lot of names, but Lucy will just have to do."

There's a stillness to Jane that Lucy can't quite decipher.

"Alright then. Do you need me to tell you why you wanna have Lucy on your side?"

The stillness continues.

"Lucy can make your problems go away. And boy do you have problems."

"Does _Lucy _always talk in the third person?"

Lucy smiles; "No. Not unless I'm trying to really piss somebody off."

"Besides. Who says I want my problems to go away?"

"Your face does. Look. Carla Romanov is not a name you want coming after you. She's got her own way of… well, you know. Dealing with things. I mean, you really think all she's gonna do is have a bucket load of prison groupie bitches beating your ass? She's got connections, sweetheart. Real ones. She knows who everyone in this joint is. That means she knows who you are. She knows the type of person you are."

"So?"

"_So_, that means she's got some pretty damn good leverage over you. All she's gotta do is pull a couple of strings and her little friends are _all _over your family. I mean… there's your mother… your cop brother… and that really little one. The skinny kid doing time? Oh maybe Carla lets it out that little Tommy Rizzoli molested an eight year old girl… You know how they take that sort of thing in the joint…"

Thunk. The movements are sudden. The ball ricochets off of the wall and lands softly on the rack before slowly rolling to a stop. Jane has her hands balled up into fists, clenching the orange fabric of Lucy's prison uniform. Jane narrows her eyes and growls; "What the hell are you getting at?"

"Listen, sweetheart. Carla's not the only one who's got some connections around here. I hear things. I know things. Sometimes I let them be, sometimes I feel like doing something about them. So why don't you stop wrinkling up my shirt?"

Slowly Jane lets go, ever so slowly lowering herself back onto her rack.

"Fine. So why are you telling me?"

"Well it's always a shame when a pretty face like yours gets all roughed up like that. Plus, uh, well I got a pretty nice gut feeling about you. Something's just telling me it'd be a good idea to… help you out."

"So how do I get Carla off of my back?"

"You get under the umbrella of someone bigger. Someone like me. Someone who can make Carla's prison stint… an uncomfortable time."

"And you're offering this to me."

Lucy runs her hands over the orange jumpsuit, smoothing out the wrinkles and outlining the thin figure of her body. She finds her way to the empty spot beside Jane, sitting down and smiling as she hears the springs of the rack squeak and give way. She lifts her fingers, brushing them, once more, over Jane's bruised cheek, her thumb running light circles over the discoloration.

"Prison is _all _about deals, sweetheart. I do something for you, you do something for me. I have something you want, you have something I want."

"So what do you… want?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

There's a silence, and Lucy tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes flittering down towards the incarcerated detective's. She begins to nibble on an earlobe and, soon enough, those same lips replace her fingers; "I want you," she says.

The movement is sudden again, as Jane pulls away; "No."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry. But no. I can't do this. I won't do this."

"Jane, I can make all of these problems go away."

It's the first time Jane makes eye contact, and it almost leaves Lucy speechless. There's an intensity to her gaze.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," she repeats. "But I can't do this. This isn't a price I can pay."

"You've got someone, don't you… on the outside?"

"Something like that."

"A boy?"

"A girl."

"I see. You must care about her. A lot."

"I do."

"Enough to put your family at risk?"

"She's my family too. I love her."

"Well, then sweetheart. I suppose we'll have to work out a different sort of deal, then."

Jane raises her eyebrows; "Oh?"

"Yeah. Let's just say me and my girls need a little… detective work done around here. Look. None of this changes my first gut feeling about you. It's just a shame, is all." Lucy pauses as she flashes Jane a quick half smile. "And keep in mind that my offer's always gonna stand."

"I don't think I'll need it."

Lucy laughs; "Fine, fine. But what do you say?"

"I'll help you out."

"Good," she says, moving away. She turns her head, eager, as always to get her last, profound words in; "You know, she's lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do."

Fade out.

…

_Rizzoli: Truth is, doc, it all comes in flashes. I don't… I don't know how much I can help here._

_Cane: Every little thing helps, detective._

_Rizzoli: Well then tell me what to do. Tell me what I need to do to make that work._

_Cane: That's not exactly something I can tell you. That's something you need to find out for yourself._

_Rizzoli: What?_

_Cane: I can help you find out, detective, but neurology is still a field very much unknown to us. And as far as we can tell, every mind works a little bit differently. What works for someone else won't work for you, detective, and likewise, what works for you, in all probability, won't work for someone else._

_Rizzoli: What're you saying, doc?_

_Cane: I'm saying we need to find out what works, specifically, for you. And I'll help you. But you're going to have to work with me on this. One hundred percent._

_Rizzoli: Well let's get going._

_Cane: So it seems to me your memories are very much triggered by emotions. Which makes a lot of sense in terms of neurology, so I think we can work with this. You say that your memories of Maura were triggered by an emotion, correct?_

_Rizzoli: Yeah, I guess._

_Cane: And this emotion, as far as I can tell, was triggered by an event, yes?_

_Rizzoli: Yeah._

_Cane: You're going to need to tell me what happened, detective._

_Rizzoli: Well… uh…_

_Cane: One hundred percent cooperation, detective. That's what we need here._

_Rizzoli: I… uh… we… uh… kissed._

_Cane: I see. A moment of strong emotion._

_Rizzoli: Can you cut to the chase here, doc?_

_Cane: What we need to do is duplicate these strong emotions. And perhaps this will trigger any memories you might have of the Theravada._

_Rizzoli: Alright…_

_Cane: What do you think you would feel? If you were captured in the line of duty. How, exactly, would that make you feel?_

_Rizzoli: Angry._

_Cane: Perfect. Close your eyes, detective._

_Rizzoli: What?_

_Cane: Just close your eyes. Close your eyes and imagine this anger. They have you. And you know they're planning to kill you. Try to imagine everything, detective. Even the insignificant details. You're sitting…_

_Rizzoli: In a car._

_Cane: Very good, detective. What else?_

_Rizzoli: I'm blindfolded. They've got zipties around my wrists. They're taking me somewhere. Can't tell where._

_Cane: Can you hear anything?_

_Rizzoli: Cars. Construction. There's a jackhammer._

_Cane: What about voices? Can you hear voices?_

_Rizzoli: There are three voices._

…

Fade in. Car. She can't see anything, but she can feel the cloth over her eyes, bound tightly. The plastic around her wrists is cutting into her skin, and she can feel the New England heat making her blood pulsate. She tries to take in as much as she can, to observe as much as she can.

The driver speaks; "You know what we're doing with this cop, anyway?"

The man on her right, affectionately nicknamed Righty, growls in response; "Shut up and keep driving."

"Hey, no need to get all cranky. I was just asking."

"Your voice gives me a headache."

"C'mon, man. You know, don't you?" whines Lefty, his voice a high pitch tone. "We got a right to know, too."

"FIne. We're just delivering her. That's all we're doing. Making a delivery."

"Well we know _that_," mutters the driver. "We're not idiots. Tell us why."

"It's about her friend," he growls. "Her friend's the special one here. The boss wants the cop away from her. Something about the cop being some sort of impurity."

"Why's the friend so special?"

"Keep your eyes on the road. The friend's special because… and get this…" Jane can almost hear Righty smiling, probably pleased that he was privy to information the others weren't important enough to know. "The friend's the reincarnation."

"No kidding," muttered Lefty. "The reincarnation? Her?"

"Oh yeah. She's the real deal, alright. The boss has got everything all set up. Says the war is gonna start soon and _she… _the reincarnation… has to be kept pure. So no more _impurities_ for her. That includes Ms. Cop over here."

"Jesus."

"Mhm." The words are, suddenly, like a waterfall out of Righty's mouth. "They're starting to say that the cop's some sort of special reincarnation of herself."

"What?" Surprise emanates from Lefty.

"That's right."

"There's another one?" This time the voice comes from the driver.

"No, idiots! Haven't you been paying attention to the scriptures? Listen up, you morons. It's about time the two of you get properly educated. They used to call her the Crane. Now the Crane was a beautiful woman. They say she was the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen. Every man out there came around to try and win her. Truth was, she was a gift to humanity. She was supposed to be the purest of entities. Not a single drop of impurity in her. The universe gifted her to us because, well, they pitied us. They saw how pathetic we were. Full of sin. So down came the Crane. A shining beacon of light. An example for us to follow. Now there was another. They called _her _the Bear. The Bear was this big, hulking _thing_. They say she, on the other hand, was one of the impurest of all of us. The kind of person that poisons the rest of us. She came around to where the Crane lived. The story is that the Crane fell in love with the Bear. That's how the Bear tainted her. Poisoned her with impurity. They died weeks later. No one knows how. But here's the kicker. The universe was angry. Angry at us for poisoning their generous gift to us. So they agreed to forever reincarnate the Crane as an entity of purity, with the condition that if we, as humans, ever decided to break our chains and truly reach _peace _and _enlightenment_, the reincarnation of the Crane had to be kept pure."

"Huh."

"Yeah, so what's the point?"

Righty growls again; "This _cop _here is supposed to be the reincarnation of the Bear. _So _all we need to do to win this war is make sure she's out of the way so we can keep that special friend all nice and pure. That's the point, you moron."

"That's all you needed to say, man."

"The point is that this is ending. Now. And we're going to win."

Jane feels the fear grip at her stomach, causing her insides to want to scream out of her throat. She shifts. Maybe she can get out of her binds. Maybe she can get away. She needs to find her. Warn her. Tell her about all of what's going on. She needs to stop this. If only she could move. If only she could get away.

"Hey!" squeals Lefty. "Looks like she's awake!"

"Son of a bitch," mutters Righty.

Jane can feel movement swimming around her. The familiar cloth is pressed against her mouth, and the fumes begin to, once again, run up the cavities in her nose and throat, burning her. Her heart clenches as she watches the darkness swirl down over her mind.

Fade out.

…

_Rizzoli: They want Maura. They want her, doc! Doc!_

_Cane: Calm down, detective. Calm down. We'll figure this out. Do you remember anything about the bombs?_

_Rizzoli: No… I don't. Nothing._

_Cane: Well that's all the time we have left for today, detective. We'll have to continue this tomorrow. Are you up for it?_

_Rizzoli: Yeah, of course._

_Cane: We did make a lot of progress today. I'll report whatever's relevant to Lieutenant Cavanaugh. You should feel proud of yourself, detective. It's coming along slowly, but your memory _is _coming back._

_Rizzoli: Thanks, doc._

_The white noise erupted again, from the device. The doctor sighed. At this point, any information on the Theravada would be useful. They didn't even have the slightest clue as to when the bombs would begin going off, let alone where they might be. But at least they knew more of their motives. At least that much was clear. The doctor sighed, his heart going out to the detective. He rubbed his eyes and slowly let his finger once again find the play button._

_Perhaps he could still manage to glean something useful from the tape._

* * *

><p><em><em>**To be continued...  
><strong>


End file.
